Discomfort

The longing,
an embrace
to nourish
haunted feelings.

Would you milk the toxins
that restrict me
in this constant detachment?

Can you blanket me
in the comfort of compassion?

Or is it matter of worth?

They line up with demands
to drain every ounce of strength
tethering me to deadlines
dulling any charismatic hope
that I can be magnetic.

A vibrancy soured,
a bit player in the march
towards a respectable front.

My champions turned against me,
slotting me into the suburban trap;
a revised Stepford of husbands and dads.

Clipped and programmed,
a faint trace
of the human
can only be found
in the arms of empathy.

Have they destroyed you,
or do you still cling like me?