There is no comfort.
You look at the invisible sky but nothing is there.
You are all alone, counting the days left
in the calendar, hoping to survive
your last mistake as a dirty pile of dishes
waits in the kitchen.
Disenchantment squeezes the soul,
life vomits the truth and the blame.
The limit has no limit and you cross
the boundaries of sanity, seeking solace,
seeking for what can't be found in love
or faith.
Despair sits on the pillow,
suffocating, scratching the night,
pushing you through the open window:
the fall is always cinematographic.
You smile back as the audience claps and cheers
when the curtain closes.
The final act is superb.
Bravo! They shout.
But you are dying.
But you are alone.
Your last interpretation is perfect
for your imperfect fans.
They gather around
like hyenas, watching you bleeding
with some curiosity
and as you lie down there,
feeling no oxygen in your veins,
you realize that nobody really cares.
Karla Bardanza
Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011
