Thirty

Family dinner or date with friends,
They were all asking the same:
"What are your plans?
You're almost in your thirty."

Trust me, I asked myself the same
Every night, alone in my room.
Various shot glasses in my hand,
Dancing under the moonlight.

I see myself standing at the edge,
At the sea, floating or submerged,
Sitting in front of my therapist,
Driving at night, passing the streetlights.

At the park, playing Russian roulette,
Shouting atop the sea of clouds,
Making a toast at some banquet,
Or at the lakes, being a painter or a poet.

But the same answer they always hear:
"I don't know. Nothing is clear.
I don't even see myself in the future,
So why should I bother?"