...have seen a reenactment of my life in September. I'm a broken record, caught in repeat, and I don't know what to do.

target.

Like the lark in the spring
or the finch in the summer--
Like the goose in the fall
or the dove in the winter--:
My heart soars,
free as a bird
upon the joyous wind.
It has taken its place
in the sky,
between the sun
and the moon: a Star reborn.

And then: Pull!
Earth comes rushing quickly
upwards to the stars.
Green mixes dazzlingly with blue
into a furious world until finally

Shatter.

And its wings of clay,
embossed in gold:
They are no more.

Never before
have I felt so cold;

rather, a triumphant apathy barrages me.

I am left despondent.
The broken fortress of the heart
has become a ghost town; a wreck--
a model of failure for all others.

Its crumbling foundation erodes with the wind--
as I fade away...

right here, next to me--
your seat is empty.
no; it is occupied by nothing.

while you, triumphant, dance
the night away out on the floor,
your seat, your lonely seat,
holds you no more.

and nor do i, for you are not mine.
i grasp at the emptiness beside me
even though i see you
moving joyously around the room
engaged in a dance, ignorant of all:
save you and your partner.

thus i sit, melancholic,
awaiting, and hoping for your return,
but this emptiness, this heavy nothing
occupying your seat
is beginning to fill with envy
and passions untold.
it is near to the brim
with jealousy and hate
and the seat buckles underneath it

so that you can sit here
no more.