Wondering Monologue

Wandering through this internal monologue,
touching the edges of what still lives,
along the road when I'm alone—
interrelations blur, connections fray.
Am I aware of my emotions toward others?
Or am I lost in persecution,
self-inflicted judgments like shards of glass
pressed against the skin of my thoughts?

My tone shifts, degrading, sometimes high,
drugged on the chaos of a mind unsteady,
out of tune with the world’s rhythm,
yet craving the touch of something real.
In the emptiness, there are desires—
a need to hold, to be held,
to grasp a fleeting moment of mine,
where care is given, where I am seen.

But through this worry, through the haze,
I long to be carefree, unbound,
a soul that dances without fear
of falling, of failing, of being left behind.
But can I ever truly be that?
Or is this a dream that dissolves
each time I try to reach it?

This cannot be—
this weight that presses down
on the fragile hopes I dare to keep.
A yearning to touch and to be touched,
to feel more than just the echoes
of thoughts that twist in the shadows
of my mind.

Am I aware, or merely pretending?
Seeking solace in a touch that never comes,
hoping to break free from the prison
of these wandering, wondering thoughts.
For to be carefree is to forget the chains
I’ve bound myself with—
the fears, the doubts, the need to belong.

So I walk this road alone,
a wanderer in my own mind,
trying to touch something real
before it fades away
into the silence
that is mine alone.