Deja Vú of Me

I'm the broken promise, 

the forgotten scent, 

the rush of adrenaline that fades 

later or sooner...

sooner, sooner. 

I'm a bunch of letters, 

a thousand stories, 

dozens of countries and hundreds of cities

closer or farther, 

farther, farther.

I'm a thousand excuses, 

a collection of glasses,

multiple interpretations that never get anywhere

found and lost,

lost, lost. 

I'm oceans of tears, 

a pain that doesn't let me walk,

getting up, making sense over and over and over again

over and over,

again, again.

I'm wrong timing, 

always late or too early, 

the one that got away or the one you let go,

away and away,

go, go... but I will not return.

I'm only human, 

a struggling soul with sincere sight. 

I'm only human, 

a continuous effort to stay in this dimension

hoping to eventually understand why my existence took place at all. 

But I'm tired. 

Worn out. 

Done. 

I'm the maze of my own making, 

a complicated identity marked by humanity. 

I'm the person you keep because it's useful,

the boost of energy that lights the room

bright and sweet,

sweet, sweet nothing. 

Is there any end to this?

Does it get any better?

The more I try to connect, the more alienating it gets. 

An eternal Deja Vu in a binary world,

and the offline as well. 

And the white noise,

and the echoes,

and the glimpses, 

ghosts and monsters,

fairies and pixie dust, to which I believe I'm allergic now. 

I would do it over again. 

The planes, the boats,

the trains, the coasts...

But I'm tired.

Hurt.

Punched.

Is there any end to this?

Does it get any better?

The further I go, the more the stakes rise. 

An eternal Deja Vu in a race against myself, 

and the rest of the world. 

And the time zones,

languages,

and translations... 

things that are common in my life, 

in a place where I want to belong, once and for all... 

Only me and I,

I and me. 

And the world.