great suffocation pushing down on me.
he makes his presence known;
climbing onto my shoulders.
tethering himself to each of my thoughts.
building a space around me called, "Past".
he plays me movies at the 11th hour each night,
he feeds off these.
the could have been.
the emptiness of the present.
the fury of the past.
the uncharted of the future.
a series of unfulfilled hopes and desires.
the fabricated dreams.
absolute euphoria congesting my days,
tranquility casting its shadow upon my soul,
reality parallel to those seen on the silver screen,
has my shortage of hope and exhilaration distorted my reverie?
could it not be so bad, this situation I have?
I added the third stanza after reading some peer reviews, thank you! I would love to hear what you think of it. I was trying to get the point across that it is an endless cycle by adding the second, "regret" at the end.