Brother John

There’s nothing here
Just a clear puddle of water
The help won’t arrive
If we wait for it
There’s nothing here
Just a blank expression
On my person
Barely moving, but still moving
I’ve hardly ever gotten anything right
Or maybe that’s my
Self-devotion
To self-doubt

This world is real big
I’ve read the almanacs
I’ve seen the atlases
I should know my way around by now but don’t
And when the help comes
Will I be waiting
Or will I be trying
To be this broken machine but back together
Best to leave it to the pros...?

I’ve read all your books
And they were all good
But they made me feel bad
Is this really how you view life?
A never-ending attempt at suicide?
That goes through the system
When you least expect it
Some outer limit lottery
Where everyone wins
Just at different times and places

I’ve been dead before and many times
I was re-surfaced
Yet all this time I still only have
A tiny sliver of confidence to my name
And not even to my real one
But something I made up when I was bored
And wishing I was with nonexistent friends

Ghosts fill my house
And cloud my vision
My soul is with them
But my fingers still reach for a pen or pencil
And scribble gibberish
All over the clear water
That I walk over
While talking to them

The ghosts have more of a sense of humor than half the human race does