justus barcomb


today


Every single day I sit and wait on the same porch. I smoke the same kind of cigarette, and think of the same thought's. When will I stop? , can I stop? Who am I? My cigarette goes out, the ashes fall on the concrete beneath my feet. I feel like I will never be able to change. I look up, seeing the happiness across the street from me. A mother and father, hugging their child who just got back from school. The sighting makes me think of myself, my own life. How I miss my parent's. I pull out my lighter, and light another cig. I get up, take a glance of my surroundings, and start to walk. Its gray from what I see. Outside its gray. The tree's, puddles, grass, even people are gray to me. I guess it's the emotions I was feeling. Just gray, like nothing. I see my reflections in the puddles I go across, making sure to step on them especially hard. I do that because of my anger, towards myself. The disgusting feeling knowing what you've done. Its terrible. I look forward now, entering another place. Everything turn's white. I keep walking, but I feel as if im floating. I see pictures flash by my eye's. They're memory's. I see a young boy at an amusement park, he accidentally goes on a ride he shouldn't have. It was a horror ride. He cries, but his mommy and daddy are they're to help. I see a man now, him and his beautiful wife kissing. They were standing in front of a house, I then realize, that was the house I bought when I was 23 years old. I then see the picture of a young girl, my daughter. I then enter my reality again, forgetting about the absence of it earlier. I remember those memory's. Know I look at myself, alone, no more children, and no life. Just 38 year old man with an attitude, and no life. I feel like nothing. Getting picked out of my good memories, and getting sucked in the under toe of my life now. I wonder If I even have a future. Is there a future for someone as old as myself? I continue to think these questions as I walk. I suddenly come across a bridge where a sign says, new road built ahead. I cross the bridge, and I see color, not just gray.

Submitted: Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Topic of this poem: depression

Form:


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