I don't know when I became a one man island,
isolated even from the best of me.
All I remember is a need to touch society.
I yearn to hear a voice soothe my mind.
I don't remember when nostalgia charged through the door.
The only reminders are the gray follicles on the floor.
They were never recreation, but now they latch on with a vengeance.
I'm under siege to the dictator of the past.
The future never had the face of a hungry rapist.
Tomorrow's hands never moved at maniacal speeds.
The light at the end of the tunnel is glaring into my eyes.
I start to even pray this isn't my designated freight train.
I keep trying to make a calendar of sedatives.
I keep trying to take it one day at a time.
But with my sparks running for another place to glow,
and a time line of grudges preventing my blood from even tiptoeing,
this mess I must clean up
can no longer fit in a wave past its crashing time.