Wandering these streets
my feet the only map,
my eyes and skull seem trapped
in some battle for my soul.

Thoughts fly like missiles
whistling past my brain
as I struggle to attain
some semblance of control.

I have no destination
but impatiently I ramble.
I scramble not to amble
down these avenues I know.

Though there’s nowhere that I’m heading,
I dread voyage’s completion
and this nothing quest’s suppletion
to where I hadn’t planned to go.

Soon my aimlessness must end
as friendless I shall finish.
If the journey has diminished
me, there’s no way I could tell.

But I walked alone to start,
smartly wandering these streets,
just myself and my two feet
on this winding path through hell.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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