Step 16 (76.)

A spiral now descends into the darkness of mind,
verily, this darkness of mine,
and it bears eerie similarities to the tower that surrounds me.
Daily and nightly our dreams attempt
to propound quite profound truths,
yet ignoring the truth is our collective modus operandi.
So dreams remain tatters with no stitches,
baggage towed without hitches,
and we bump them all along the roads of our lives
without a care for the gifts we are dragging.
I promise, I am not bragging,
but now I think I see the lesson.
I think I know why the somnambulist goes
where they go,
and this knowledge does nothing to lessen
the pain of untapped years of learning.
Each moment of sleep becomes a lantern
by which I may light my way,
but I tend to snuff them out and shout nay.
Now, a polarized pastiche of scenes to illuminate my making:
genuine smile, love shaking, trembling in tears, violent shouting,
loud high fives, tender good nights, desperate internet searches,
thousands of likes, dozens of crushes, countless fragments of stories
that I just stopped clutching, no sewing, no making,
all knowing, no knowing, just waiting,
more than several handfuls of passive evenings in restaurants,
wondering about the waitress whose confidence flaunts a healthy person,
every public appearance a cause for anxiety,
every private doubt a wave in a churning sea,
most connections stymied, many frantic possessive text messages
to the tune of “Do you really love me?,”
self-doubt, self-erasure, self-reflection, self-censure, self-censor,
I’ve been molded by me into an imperfect copy of myself,
and I see now all the things that I must take off the shelf,
this tower is a blistering reminder,
this tower is my history,
but I have to leave it here
and get out
and walk in mystery.
Elevator, bring me to ground;
it’s time I move on.


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