STRAIGHT LOOPS

In attempting to cross the frail bridge from who I am to who I ought to be,

I slip and fall into the abyss of nomad's land,

I become paralyzed in the darkness,

Trapped with myself that has now become no more than a stranger,

No present and no future; just a stateless state of existence where my every breath brings more questions,

Questions I can not answer or rather I chose not to answer so as to postpone the sight of my true reflection,

I rather complain from willful ignorance than know the truth because truth does not pity the weak,

Truth leaves no room for excuses,

And so I remain killing time just as much as it kills me,

Trying to decide which way to climb when the self I know says I'm too good for it and the self I long for says I'm not good enough,

I stay and bite my nails and pray to the God that's probably too far to hear my whispers,

"Please...help me."

In the absence of a miracle, I give away to sleep, 

When I awake I find my foot about to take the first step onto that dreadful bridge,

I fall back in panic and promise myself never again,

And I keep my promise until the next time I break it.