Dancing in the Moonlight

A peon to inertia.

Is that you I hear

Whispering in my ear

Dancing in the moonlight

Turning my heart

On a sixpence

Laughing in the darkness

As your scent

Fills my lungs

The waft from the

Wardrobe rippling the air.

It fills the room

With tiny pinpricks

Of your essence,

Stinging my eyes

And tricking me

Into believing you

Will return.

How long before it fades

What of me then,

When the wonder of you

Is less a dream

And more than a nightmare,

The reality of which

Turns my insides out.

How will I find the world

When it is a stranger

Knocking at my door,

Fearsome in its

Volatile unpredictability

Once so approachable

I baulk at its

Vacuum packed vastness

And shrink further

Into a sliver

Of insignificance.

My insular disappearance

The only witness

To the witless display

Of self-parody

As I applaud my success

In mastering the art

Of self-reproach.

A meditation on inertia.

Isolationism is my

Latest flame

And the torch I carry

Is for lighting my

Way to a solitary hell

Of my own deserving.

I have lost all purpose

Even a will to survive

And the way forward

Is a blind alley

Of my own devising,

Please let me kiss the glass,

Drown in amber

And lose the will

To proceed

In any direction.

It is bound to be

Kinder that way.