auden and anhedonia


What buried worm of guilt / Or what malignant doubt / Am I the victim of, / That you then, unabashed, / Did what I never wished, / Confessed another love; / And I, submissive, felt / Unwanted and went out? — W.H. Auden

Today is so strange … I am seeing those pink stage curtains in my mind again when I shut my eyes. And I hear her voice again, words forced from her wax lips: Anhedonia quoting Auden. My mind is tired today and aches so. I want so badly to just be in the dark, pretending I am in a tunnel no one knows about, alone in the real and true sense while everyone walks all over me on a street above. I will be with the other scavengers. I guess I am a scavenger too … scavenging for one moment, scratching away at the miles and minutes.

The curtains are drawn and swaying in our oxygen. They look expectant, like they are anticipating something remarkable any moment. But like life and love, nothing ever happens … only the threat of it.

Published in: on May 11, 2007 at 5:40 pm  Leave a Comment  

The URI to TrackBack this entry is:

RSS feed for comments on this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: