Madly thrumming against the walls.
You looked past me,
Unaffected by my broken rhythm.
You summoned darkness to surround me
In my naivete, strangling the light
To mock my vain attempts
At earning your attention,
But, in striking contrast to my flailing limbs
Drumming out my desperation
Against your cold stone,
You did not move.
Dance. Dance. Dance with me--
The repetition of my futility.
You wouldn't even do me the honor
Of holding me at arm's length.
People stared,
Mesmerized by my disjointed movements,
As random nerve endings fired.
They saw only my self-destructing.
You were the constant--
So constant that, to them,
You became the scenery
Unnoticed by my motion.
They didn’t know the reason
For my dissonant beating against the concrete;
Trying to change what is certain,
But I was their little circus of fleeting breath.
They, too happy to observe
The funny sight that didn't concern them,
Would not bestow the gift of death,
And so, I danced.
This poem was written in collaboration with a friend of mine. I left it intentionally vague so that it can be applied to an individual seeking to change an institution that he/she once believed in, a dysfunctional relationship of either the romantic or familial sort, or literally, about a moth beating against a wall (which was the inspiration.) This was also recently featured in a Daily Lit Recognition article on deviantART if that means anything to you.
