Here I am, again.
Every road leads to Rome they say,
It seems every pleasure leads to the same pain.
I find not a single place to escape away.

I feel the melancholy
Of unworshipped and forgotten deities,
Of leaves that are turning bloody red,
Of parents who cradle borrowed lives,
Of questions no one dared to ask and left unanswered.

I feel the futility
Of confessed and embraced sins,
Of infertile hard boiled eggs,
Of visually identical twins,
Of immobile paralyzed legs.

I feel the laments
Of the first snowflake in winter that melts,
Of the whales rotting at the bottom of the ocean,
Of the Sun that repeatedly rises and sets,
Of a nonbeliever’s unending devotion.

I feel the resentment
Of unremembered souls under the Mother Earth,
Of the bride that was meant to die a virgin,
Of unmined diamonds with no worth,
Of the seed under solid concrete that was meant to burgeon.

I feel all this life and death,
But for what and why?
Is this what it means to be alive?

How does one kill their ego?

Unwind me, oh God
If you hear me.
But I doubt that you ever do.
I see no tears of yours
That drop from the heavens.