I Know, Don’t I?

Aloine

I know what it is,
A soul climb over the mountain of vague anxiety,
Shriveling cold fear in an ancient depth.
I know,
A dim sojourn in the garden of flowery angst,
With the smell of acrimony; no sound, no colour.

I know what it is,
A forlorn voyage across multi-layered triste chaos.
Ever dark with no streak of light.
I know,
An incomprehensible journey around a circle of gall,
It’s a bane to my solitude.

I know what it is,
A quest to the depth of this emotional turmoil.
It’s not unfeeling; it never had a heart.
I know,
A painful haul over the red sky,
Evading every fosse whilst leaving you un poco loco.

I know what it is,
An elusive gaze with a mirror,
Engulfing image of this sadness.
I know,
A trip towards impious reverence that
Clenches the heart, stops the stomach.

I know, don’t I?
The raven air that extinguishes life,
Happily ever after, it is not.