the slow unravelling of mind and me

What were once the souls of my dreams,

essences of my hopes,

masterpieces of my wishes:

My Times to Come,

have now dissolved,

washed away by salty seas,

broken in the storms of my Self.

They drown 

as it emerges that

my constant delusion of reprieve

has finally come to terms with me.

And so they become

thin tangled threads,

iridescent dreams of the past,

of what was and will not be,

quietly fraying, ready to snap

I am detached

from then and now and then

past and future trailing

behind my outreached fingertips

and all I can graze

are the locked doors

to rooms in which I don't belong.

But I can't help

pressing my face into 

the cloudy windows,

waiting for a Time

that Isn't

and Won't.

"And I can't stop

feeling sorry for myself."