Gregor Vukasinovič
Neverending
Sometimes I wonder where it leads.
My road.
The road of everyone.
As if I didn't know.
As if I hadn't known all along.
It's rare I was wrong about the destination.
Only ever misjudged the distance.
Time and again.
Stumbled over unforeseen obstacles.
Forced to take detours all the time.
Missing the shortcuts I could’ve taken.
Running out of fuel.
The lonesome road
With no name, no number.
Most maps don’t show it.
It's better than many people think.
In some ways at least.
No stoplights, no cops.
You can stop or change direction abruptly
anytime you see something beautiful by the wayside.
Without worrying about causing a pile-up in your wake.
Nonetheless, it's a lonely road.
In a lifeless desert.
Resting places, few and far between.
Dirty and rundown.
Sickly old people behind the counter.
Trying their best to keep the place running.
The last of their kind.
Nobody to aid you if you break down.
But this is the road I walk.
There’s no other way home that I know of.
Wherever home may be.
If it even exists. Who knows.
I thought I had found it a couple of times.
Instead found doors that wouldn’t open.
Signs saying, we’re closed.
Traps and alerts, sleeping watchdogs.
If it doesn’t open, it’s not my door.
The hounds sent after me
biting my back as I leave.
Maybe it’s the wrong mindset altogether.
Maybe out on the road is where I am at home.
Or at least, where there’s a realistic hope
to make myself at home.
A lonely home. But it’s mine.
One like no other.
The only home that I still care to know.
The wide open endless road.
Where you never have to stop moving
Yet nothing ever changes.
Where the greatest horror waiting to reveal itself,
is that you only ever went in circles.
You got absolutely nowhere.
And you never will.
You’re not on the road.
You’re in a hamster wheel.
The very thing you were so desperate to evade.
Made bigger and with joyful lights on it,
and sold to you as a funfair ride.
I can’t afford the tickets,
keep buying them anyway.
So here I am.
Not even chasing after myself
Only running from the enemy within.
Chasing the same dreams,
the same vague ideas,
the same hopes I can’t put a name on.
All just an elaborate illusion.
And the thought it somehow might become real.
Not knowing how I could even tell if it did.
The happy ever after,
that I don’t know what it looks and sounds and feels like.
It took me too long.
I feel time’s running out.
I’ve got nowhere at all.
The closest thing to a victory,
I got there alive.
Neverending
Sometimes I wonder where it leads.
My road.
The road of everyone.
As if I didn't know.
As if I hadn't known all along.
It's rare I was wrong about the destination.
Only ever misjudged the distance.
Time and again.
Stumbled over unforeseen obstacles.
Forced to take detours all the time.
Missing the shortcuts I could’ve taken.
Running out of fuel.
The lonesome road
With no name, no number.
Most maps don’t show it.
It's better than many people think.
In some ways at least.
No stoplights, no cops.
You can stop or change direction abruptly
anytime you see something beautiful by the wayside.
Without worrying about causing a pile-up in your wake.
Nonetheless, it's a lonely road.
In a lifeless desert.
Resting places, few and far between.
Dirty and rundown.
Sickly old people behind the counter.
Trying their best to keep the place running.
The last of their kind.
Nobody to aid you if you break down.
But this is the road I walk.
There’s no other way home that I know of.
Wherever home may be.
If it even exists. Who knows.
I thought I had found it a couple of times.
Instead found doors that wouldn’t open.
Signs saying, we’re closed.
Traps and alerts, sleeping watchdogs.
If it doesn’t open, it’s not my door.
The hounds sent after me
biting my back as I leave.
Maybe it’s the wrong mindset altogether.
Maybe out on the road is where I am at home.
Or at least, where there’s a realistic hope
to make myself at home.
A lonely home. But it’s mine.
One like no other.
The only home that I still care to know.
The wide open endless road.
Where you never have to stop moving
Yet nothing ever changes.
Where the greatest horror waiting to reveal itself,
is that you only ever went in circles.
You got absolutely nowhere.
And you never will.
You’re not on the road.
You’re in a hamster wheel.
The very thing you were so desperate to evade.
Made bigger and with joyful lights on it,
and sold to you as a funfair ride.
I can’t afford the tickets,
keep buying them anyway.
So here I am.
Not even chasing after myself
Only running from the enemy within.
Chasing the same dreams,
the same vague ideas,
the same hopes I can’t put a name on.
All just an elaborate illusion.
And the thought it somehow might become real.
Not knowing how I could even tell if it did.
The happy ever after,
that I don’t know what it looks and sounds and feels like.
It took me too long.
I feel time’s running out.
I’ve got nowhere at all.
The closest thing to a victory,
I got there alive.