I climb the steep stairs
ascending the dizzying spiral
twisting, turning, branching
into three similar paths
the left
down a road lined with pitchforks
cast in blue flame
squeezed between the pitchforks
are wooden signboards messily labelled
"we don't need you
nobody needs you"
the ceiling blanketed with the blood
of an unpaid slave
still fresh, still dripping
still screaming for a pay raise
yet the slave had one job
to kiss a thorny flower
a melting rose
with petals as fluid as tears
but the slave drank the rose
swallowed it whole
and the corpse is nowhere to be found
the complex name of the slave
splattered on the walls of the road
The middle
a dark alley
dimly lit by a single streetlight
standing sorrowfully
pondering sorrily
about all the sad lives
the parentless children
the saviourless souls
lost in this labyrinth of knives
as the penniless people
in their drunken stupor
rammed their bruised hearts
into the shiny sharp of the metal
over and over again
never seem to die
yet they cry louder every time
but I, who is standing
in front of the three paths
their laments are like whispers
softer and softer
and... nothing
or is it because
I can no longer feel my ears
I can no longer feel my heart
As a figure who can hear no sound
I carefully tread along the right path
my right hand constantly touching the wall
to make sure I am still alive
still conscious, still undreaming
still caressing the rough rocky seas
with my sandpapered fingers
as my fingerprints are imprinted
onto every little crevice on the wall
leaving behind an inspiring message
"nobody loves you"
and thus I leave my hated identity
behind me, as I resume my walk
each step forward getting heavier
as if the floor is sucking in my feet
my arms are tight
my head is spinning
as I lose my sense of direction
I stop dead in my tracks
in a lightless area
devoid of emotions
a void for the lonely
As I snap out of my
bizarre escape to a personal fantasy
a vacation away from society
I am sitting at my desk
staring at the scary horde of numbers and letters
on my computer screen
I pick up the landline phone
on my right
while I reach for the calculator
on my left
as I read an email filled with hatred
in the middle of the wall of text
I come across a heartwarming sentence
"we need your urgent support
as our MACHINE is dead
how can we love again
your machine is a piece of shit
you are a piece of shit"
I descend the elevator
from the office on the twenty-fifth floor
I arrive at the ground floor
yet the elevator continues descending
falling
deeper and deeper
faster and faster
and it stops getting faster
moving at such a constant speed
that I can no longer feel like I'm falling
I'm merely floating aimlessly
in this bright yet quiet space
trapped within six ceramic walls
at least the music is calming
albeit repetitive
The elevator door splits open
in front of me, three paths lay bare
the left, the middle, the right
which should I choose
the left path of slavery
the middle path of sorrow
or the right path
of loneliness?
YOU ARE READING
Nebula at Sea
PoetryThe journey of a man venturing into a world of insecurities, apathy, and strangeness. A story of growing up. A rhythm of escaping into the fantasy of the self. This is a collection of poetic stories through sufferings, hardships, and recovery. A rev...
