Untitled (Andrew Guenard)

Andrew Guenard

Untitled 1

I know not why I anger at you 

I anger at myself in turn. 

For when you turned your eyes from me 

You were but another. 

For I am a child born of every turned gaze,

Of every closed door, every brick in the wall

Separating me from the laughing voices

Forever ringing in my ears. 

A wall which only grew with time

For I know not how to swim nor scream that I am drowning. 

My only escape clinging to false hope 

That someday I shall rise and walk across the water unscathed

Lifted by miraculous unseen hands. 

A vacuous bliss my only escape 

From the sinking dread ever growing.

Yet I anger at myself, as I have before 

Wondering when the day will come that I shall scream. 

Untitled 2

I wish I could tear down everything in the mirror 

Because I hate having to look at strangers.

I hate never being able to speak for myself 

Which is why I stay silent. 

What is it that they see when they look at me?

I never do know. 

What is it that they read from my words? 

I never know. 

I wish I could be faceless, nameless

Because neither is my own. 

Untitled 3

The weight of daylight hangs heavy on my shoulders

The clouds shuffle along, an aimless march,  

The floor slowly sinking beneath my feet

The lights gash at the night sky 

Lighting amber the falling snow 

A galaxy of discolored stars 

A song slow and plodding 

Here amidst the silence of the stars

I am safe 

Untitled 4

same light,

same night 

same sight ahead 

same sinking dread

same withered dead cold 

same thoughts left untold 

same bright silver threshold crossed 

same city overcome by frost 

same unspoken burden of lost hope 

same deserted truth like tightening rope

save me, I can’t bear this any longer