Words That We Couldn't Say

No more wandering away from my reality
Here it is:
cold, thick, and plain.
Overwhelmingly so.
No more commandeering inspiration
No more tripping through fantasies of competence
Here I am
again.
Sober.
Warm and frightened.
Unimpressive.
insignificant.
No escape.
I can't take it.

I'm oscillating
flipping between
shimmering hope and gloomy despair
rage and ecstacy
between overwhelmed and bored
like some wretched light switch

Is it bad that suddenly I can't tell
if you're a really good therapist
or just a really mean man?
Is what I feel I need
and what I really need
never
the same?
I trust you but you tell me that there are no easy answers.
And I feel as trapped as when I first came to see you,
as time goes by.

Math always made more sense
d/dx and so forth.
So who would have thought this,
a truth so blaringly smple?
That who I am and why I can't function
is a function of having no limits as a kid
or else being able to push them back into infinity?
I can escalate better than most, until most
throw up their hands in despair
and I'm left to cover the costs.
And when I can't rage openly against their unfair expectations,
I shake with the terror of failure imminent?
Until I too believe that the only way to fix the mess that is my life,
is to leave my body a mess
at the bottom of some endless abyss.
Where time becomes infinte...
what happens to x?
A metaphor taken too far.
But what does that even mean?

I have no words,
I'm dry.
I'm empty.
Trying hard to coalesce some meaning out from these fragments of life
Failing that, how about some happiness?
I feel powerless.
Even as I know I'm not. I have a choice. I've made up my mind.
Even as I wish I could choose again.
I cannot walk. How could I possibly fly?
I cradle, arms to knees,
and rocking slowly,
Wait for you to save me.

I have no words,
I'm dry.
I'm empty.
This time for real.