Do You Know... Me? Poem by France Tamaca

Look what tears had done to this piece of table cloth

The closest hint to my weariness revealed

I am, and I remain… still,

The grandest of cowards,

The brightest of fools…

Blaming this moron heart for letting the head overrule.

All the loves I painfully took into account,

Might I still hear them in a song?

Haven’t heard of them for quite a long.

I’m a slave to my own fairytale,

A wimp holding my head up high.

I torment my bliss and always, as always,

I worship my cry.

Inside this miniature realm, I slept awake

To savor what this world vends for free.

A lucid picture of a lot better me.

This shallow world I dig in,

Why couldn’t I get near?

My thoughts I couldn’t think,

My own words I couldn’t speak,

My own voice I couldn’t hear!

Alone elsewhere I dreamt about a face that was blank,

The lifeless image of my entirety.

I suffer the insufferable and in a sense it was killing me.

…

I put an end to this insignificant quest,

Spare my poor heart I intentionally dropped into abyss,

Live this life I try to call life,

And so I sail away…

With nothingness.