Scrolling Pages

Life is two dimensional.

It never used to be that way, but my dreariness flattens it.

Now nothing is left but the pages:

I scroll through the pages looking at people

People smiling, people laughing, people dancing

Happy people at every turn.

I scroll through the pages more rapidly

Searching, begging, pleading

Desperate to find some way of transference

Clinging to the idea that bathing my eyes in positive emotion will surge it throughout my body.

But I find nothing.

Nothing but envy,

Nothing but hatred, nothing but the want for vengeance.

I want them to feel my heavy heart,

To know what I’ve been through.

I want them to gravel in pain,

To choke and convulse with sorrow.

I wish they could feel my sore muscles,

Bent and twisted from the fetal position that confines me.

I wish they could experience the weight of my lifeless body,

Drained of the energy my sorrow takes form me.

I wish they could feel my shirt,

Wet from the product of my despair and still warm

From the sadness that continues to pour from within me.

I scroll again, for a different reason this time.

Focusing on each face, I try.

Try to sap their strength and replace it with my burden.

Try to take their smiles, their laughs

Try to fill my life with happiness that does not belong to me.

But of course, it doesn’t work.

My glimmer of hope is shot.

Life is two dimensional and it will remain that way.

I am flat, left with nothing but scrolling pages of a life I wish I had.