Is There Any Hope Left For Me? Poem by Mita Diran

I see colours in the space of time; dancing, vanishing and reappearing. I see the shapes of my current thoughts bubbling up the surface like oil forcing its way through boiling water. What am I thinking. What am I dreaming.

I see the road leading to a fork up ahead. Should I go left, or should I go right. Or should I turn back. Is there anything waiting for me if I go on. What if there isn't. What if I'm lost. Maybe I'm right back at the beginning of the board game, and I need to climb up the ladders and down the snakes before I reach the end.

Where are you. Are you lost, or have I lost you. I see myself slowly slipping away from the depths of your mind. This is me, trying to claw my way back in. I'm clinging on the edge, hoping for a miracle to come by and whisk me away into nothingness.

I see pieces of myself trailing behind me, a reminder of where I came from and the lengths I took to glue myself back together. I am half-dead already. Did you know. Did you notice. They told me I'd be doomed if I took that plunge, and I did. So I am doomed, I suppose.

I see the dotted line between reality and hope. Which side are you on. The line is torn and it becomes a river, and I am stranded on the other side. A bridge stands, burning. It is five seconds before midnight and I'm still waiting. Is there any hope left for me.