The Silent March of Ennui

by Ben Szwediuk
(Reading, Berkshire, England)


We cannot wait to drag ourselves from this dungeon,
this cavern of our despair.
This bitter, dank and cowardly retreat;
sick green hued and stagnant air.

Lamentably ingested anaesthesia;
no guilt, no dreams,
these nihilist teens
await the sentence that draws me nearer still.

So remembered is the will I eulogise
that lurks behind these stony eyes
that whisper “I could have been....”

No longer me, but a ghoulish parody,
of the disaffected and unwanted.
Safe here, in misty shadows
that arch and sweep over my self-destruction.
Stand for your inglorious induction!
As upon your knees you soon will be,
as what was me.

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