Silverfish

All of my Dreams are Nightmares

Divulging in some kind of diluted conversation.

The type of talk that prods without any real concern.

This empty, disconnected feeling that stares down at myself from far away.

Atop a distant building, somewhere else.

I've been told a lot of different things about myself and every day it seems to become more and more applicable.

I can sometimes see my other self, again, atop a distant building in that very somewhere else.

It's cold and caustic and burns at the touch, the harsh memory that so starkly contrasts my present.

The terrible fact is I'm not myself anymore.

I'm no longer late, full nights of conversation and jovial jobs.

No longer lust and love, comfortable friendship and meaning.

Creative purpose, built upon layers of success and expression.

Instead I'm looking upwards, alone on the ground below that tall building.

I'm always alone now.

Even when I'm surrounded, I am still left staring far away, wishing I was there.