Worlds (Part 3)

while stuck between worlds
and beautiful notions
of current heart's delight
and past's destruction

a sharp dagger flies,

"what if I'm not enough for this world?"

what if there exists within me something else
something wrong
what if in this middle space, there lies not a pearl
but a void.
It still stings. It smarts. it pains me to think.
to think that just maybe it's fault is
just me

I look to my insides, all I see is a mess of
cogs, and wires, and premade destructive
tendancies.
I have lived for destruction with the will of a
zombie.
Crying to be fed
And never doing any feeding
All I do is whine and moan
and feel such things alone
but in this middle place, between this one and that, I wish that what I wanted most was to want something of
worth.
that mattered.
that meant something more than self-satisfaction
and feign
and falsities
and delusion
and destrucion
without lasting
without meaning

I realize that i love none but myself
and that in doing so, I am alone.
The world that I've entered into, then, is not much more than the one I left,
The pitiful pity of preferential
me.

...waking from the nightmare, he dusts himself off. this traveler of worlds
he's something of a moth.
he fears darkness,
and loathes the empty
he clings to the light
and he's much too much
like me.