Beyond the Beaten Path

I’ve been wanting to die, again.
Though perhaps it’s just I’m unmotivated to live?
It’s the same sad song I’ve mumbled since I started here.
You always said I mumbled too much.
Sorry.

I’ve never looked forward. Can the future be a phobia?
It’s bleak, and you can never really reach it.
The present sneaks up on you like some out of touch senior begging you for the time.
And they always get it.
“It’s yours. Congratulations.”
I just keep marching on – looking back.
Making mental notes on what I’ve done wrong so I can prepare them for the future I never prepare for.
So i’m always wrong.

When you’re born, your wrists are tied together, held by a tether to some vehicle.
Let’s say a van.
It’s slow at first, but you’re not used to the momentum.
You scramble to get to your feet.
You find a balance, though –
and then you’re walking.
Jogging.
Running.
Things are going to be OK.

Your feet start to tire.
You spent so long trying to find your bearings that you never stopped to wonder what the fuck it is that you’re doing.
Now you’re speeding.
Your foot fumbles.
You trip.
You fall.
You struggle to your feet, but it’s too fast.
“Stop.”
You can’t get up.
Dragging along the scorching asphalt with merciless indifference.
Now you’re bleeding.
Screaming.
Flailing like some sad stupid fish dropped in the desert,
until you’re naught but meat and dust smeared into the same road they promised would lead you to salvation.

It all leads to the same end, you know?
Every year the circle grows smaller.
What more lies beyond the beaten path?

I just want to be a memory.