A Time Lost

Time stands still, frozen in fragments that

I can taste but not quite feel.

I stand still, the moonlight reflecting

a sacred thread lost ages ago.

The Polaroid stands glowering over my nightstand,

The air of superiority it holds is uncanny;

as if it knows exactly what I'm feeling,

shining smugly, being remembered finally.

Closing my eyes, I have these visions

of a place far away, lost somewhere in my mind.

The echoing laughter and screams alike,

haunting and daunting, bewitching my frail heart.

The edges of my frown turn into a smile,

remembering the swings by the lake of my old house,

then turn into a scowl, remembering

all that once was, is now not anymore.

My mother's voice wraps over my head,

a lullaby for a wandering soul.

My father's firm fingers holding on to mine,

a bandage made of love.

My brother's unfunny jests,

an embrace of the coziest kind.

This old bedroom, a room I don't want to leave ever again,

the feel of this blanket woven of nothing but air,

Yet still it wraps around me in solace.

Can I turn back time? Rhetorical, but wishing I knew the answer.

Writhing in turmoil, pleading, begging, for a time lost

in yellowing pages, slipped between the subconscious of

a saddening, ridiculous, aging heart.

What a tale of utter despair; an entire monsoon in a single teacup,

a novel, whispered, into one and only one sentence,

a full symphony composed as a single note.

Feeling oceans... yet only being able to express a drop.

What a tale of devout merriment; waking up, not knowing what day it was,

just eating, playing, laughing,

living, not just existing.

Alas, what a tale of extreme melancholy; a time lost,

right there at the tip of the tongue, but also in the pit of the stomach;

right there at my fingertips, yet lost in an unfeeling void;

can only be remembered, not lived again, what a tragedy!

They say, cherish what is gone, remember to enjoy those fleeting memories,

yet I say, "Cherish? What nonsensical bouts of insanity!"

For I shall always be the one to remember in my own way of

maddening possessiveness and nauseating misery.

I shall remember the good times, of course, I shall always strive

to live for the out-of-reach, hopeless love and joy,

But I shall also remember, of course, the terrible storms

locked away inside a shell, surrounded by high, thick walls of nonchalance.

I shall remember, of course, walking behind on the grass,

following a group that seems to have forgotten my existence;

cursing myself and my body under the dim reflection

of my mirror;

laughing, yet still covering my face, embarrassed by

the futile allowance to divulge just one moment;

sobbing, wailing, sighing, into the pillow that, playing the role of

my absolute best friend, comforts me, or tries to anyway.

Is it weird to ask myself, again yet again,

"What is wrong with me?"

Dear God, why would you make me so?

Were you distracted perhaps, during my making,

or angry, hateful, and hurt?

Or maybe you just wanted the satisfaction in knowing

some little girl's despair?

Rue not my repentance in being given birth, fellow souls,

for I know, good Lord, I know! But maybe, just maybe, do try

to know what it feels like to be in my shoes.

Well, not that you would know, I'm too far gone to be brought back,

so maybe I'll just have tried my hand at this game of being an actress,

Of course, don't I deserve an Oscar already?