the feeling like nothing you do,
will ever get you closer to
to that place you long to be,
that person you long to hold
within your arms, only to make believe
that everything could be okay
if only for a moment, that split second
before reality stabbed you in the back once again
the cruel smirk on the face,
in the back of your mind
reminding you the memory you held,
would probably only be that, a memory
never to hold, only to envy
like fighting the undertow
pulling you from everything you need
like tears and blood, falling down the well
insignificant to the mass
unnoticed
indistinguishable
