In hopes of a breakthrough

I am writing in hopes of a breakthrough

a moment of clarity strong enough

to birth my pulse.

With everyday a brother to the next

I do not feel akin to this life

and I am left with the unfamiliar.

foreign to me

love&hate

joy&grief

Pride&shame

all foreign to me.

Nothing

I feel no thing

but I live through it all.

How do I live through it all?

Even Veronika decided to die

In hopes of her breakthrough.

I go to work everyday

I am productive

I am a writer

I am flirty

I am a good son.

I am No one.

a satellite receiving static-

the blues of my everyday.

But I look forward to my breakthrough

when emotion will flood stoic eyes

with tears of joy or pain-

Just feel something, anything!

Instead I float lazily on the sea

driftwood where my passion should be

what's a fucking breakthrough?

It is all in vain,

I am but billowing organdy drapes

composed only of the breeze.