wake me from my coma
I think I am awake, but not really
I live in this static state of conclusions
I only go by what is already understood.
then if it makes no sense to me, I ignore it.
endless repetition is my only way of life.
I don’t even have an interest in why that is so.
all the landmarks of the day repeat themselves
as the same as they were then but now again
I hear what you are saying but I am not listening
if I understood you, I don’t actually care to remember
I’d like to care about things but what for?
I know you started to talk to me
but somewhere either along the way, I lost interest
or I have no idea what you’re meaning.
it feels like I am out of breath but not
and yet nothing to cause that has happened.
maybe I am hunting inside for memories
in that the hopes that I can repeat them.
lots of the time, I realize I am doing something
but I have no idea when whatever that is, started.
the stuff I think about gets in the way for now.
I feel relaxed even though everything seems uneasy.
how I am, where I am, is all I get to really notice.
I know that I am here but what else is that to me?
years may go by as this same moment it seems.
I know there’s a lot of background
but I’m no where near it.
clouds, yes I know clouds,
cause I see’em all the time.
by the way, so, what’s with you, with me?
am I supposed to know you,
but it doesn’t seem likely.
everybody here, is like people on the bus I don’t know.
so, you got my attention
but I don’t know what to do with it.
maybe I’m back and perhaps you’re here,
so are you again?
I don’t know how to say this,
but wake me, wake me up.
I would mean to have tears if you ever did
but right now I don’t know where they would come from.
and who would I be to myself for then?
it’s all a coma-like existence
and I can’t explain how that is.
I am so far away from who I am,
who can’t remember then.
I need a now that connects me to myself to wake me.
but no now comes, for the way I am living in it.
I can’t escape when all I know to be,
keeps coming out.
it is endlessly the same rope I hang onto and from.
I am the puppet of my own blind lost mastery.
either cut the strings that manipulate my coma animation
or source the distant hands of the puppeteer I hide from.
comatose as a way of life is what it feels like.
maybe this is a coma of the heart, my heart
and I can’t, for the life of me, think my way out of it.
for there are no mindful answers to this coma of the heart.
the only chance I have is for you to wake me with love
what if heartfelt, when spoken from there,
and heard inside me, has none of my mentality needed.
go ahead, go ahead and wake me, from this coma-state
so that I can directly feel for myself, once again.