VERSA VICES written in blue ink - Anonymous


It’s hard.
Living on the fringe
Of reality.
Feeling yourself
Stretched too thin.
Pulled in every direction,
Except the destination.         How hard can
                    It possibly be?
                    He won’t look me
                    In the eyes.
                    You know that
My eyes                  Means he lies.
Reveal too much.
Fear she’ll witness
The darkness that
Suffocates my soul.

With quick glances,
In her eyes I see
She’s missing,
Lacking, wanting
Something.
But that something
Ain’t me.                 Not him, again?
                     Texting? Really?
                     This sporadic communication
                     Is starting to annoy me.
                     He’s obviously just
Lost her.                 A loser.
Just like I lose
All the hers.
Said something weird.
Or maybe it’s this beard.
Trying to look humble.
Come off as a hobo.           Maybe he’s a homo
                     Is he drunk,
                     Still?
                     Is he high,
                     Again?
                     Why do his
                     hands shake?
                     I guess he’s
Inside my brain:               Just insane.
Caffeine. Nicotine.
Cannabis. Alcohol.
Rinse. Repeat.
Repeat the rinse
Of failures
From my consciousness.
Like a waking dream,
I hope to float
Through this called life.
Because I have
No self-esteem.               So self-righteous
                      So self-absorbed.
                     What game is
                     He playing?
                     It’s not me,
It’s not her,                It’s him.
It’s me.
I’m the one who
Failed us both.
Failure in
Communication.
In being
A friend.                  Friends?
                      Yeah, Maybe once upon.
                      But did not take
                      Long for me to find
She has no                  Out who he is.
Idea who I am.
The enigma.
The wildcard.
I don’t want
This attention.
Just leave me
Alone now.                   Now,
                        I know you know
                        I’m slow to hate.
                        But surely, it’s
I hate myself,                  Him I hate.
For what I do.
But it’s who
I am.
Can’t help myself.


FROM THE AUTHOR: This poem is from the perspective of two people, on the left is a man having a conversation within himself, on the right is a woman having a conversation with a friend. Stylistically, the first line of one stanza is supposed to line up with the last line of the previous stanza. If performed aloud, a man would read one part, and a woman the other part, and both would read the lines that overlapped at the same time. I think it leads to some nice poetic harmony discord.