Saturday, December 06, 2014

the bastard and the beast

i hesitate with pen in hand
into the darkness to step.
the open door reveals a place
from which it is difficult to return.

as tears well in my eyes I feel
the fear arise.  the fear of feeling itself.
facing the darkness before my eyes
i realize the darkness is myself.

depression is a bastard and a thief
spawned from the depths of mind
stealing words, thoughts and expression.
leaving gaping wounds of loneliness and silence

falling headlong, struggling to hold on
to what I don’t know, but I know I must.
swallowing creativity, desire and love
leaving emptiness, remorse and helplessness

wandering, an empty vessel, in the world
staring speechless, clueless into the eyes of care
with no words to share, or feelings to give
barren, stripped of love, acceptance, friendship

a rotting pile of dung in place of humanity
stinking from lack of care or desire
rolling in muck with no recognition
that anything should be changed

loneliness in a crowded room
but loneliness that is insufficient
the healing loneliness is found only when
you escape the presence of even yourself

the beauty of sleep grants the reprieve,
in hours of unconsciousness you escape the me
utterly alone and unknowing
the pain…            stops

but the bastard thief will not be denied!
slithering into your every breath
to steal the beauty of sleep and befriend
the beast…  insomnia

prolonging the misery until the body
utterly collapses under the weight
insomnia sinks her talons into the brain
claiming every moment, demanding attention

raping and murdering every potential
moment of slumber, denying peace
with horrid dreams and frightful
phantoms of lurid and lucid memory

and then the tears begin to flow
the helpless, hopeless, collapse and release
the unending flowing river of emotion
that cannot be dammed.

engrossed in the sudden recognition
that you have snapped, that the bastard has won
without means to struggle or fight
you succumb… and sink into the darkness

longing for peace, for inner calm
longing for the yesterdays of happiness
longing to feel anything good
the darkness crushes the soul

the bastards curse is a betrayals ruse
the lovers and families and friends
succumb as well to fierce misunderstanding
rejection, silence and isolation

the bastard and the beast
in tandem seal the victory
lonely and utterly alone
left with nothing but yourself

the death spiral has begun
the mind empty of rationality
replays only the bastards lament
and awaits the useless, triumphant utterly relieving end

the cry for help, not understanding
and misunderstood, nowhere to turn
enemies within and without

maybe only one way out

2 comments:

Kerri Stanley said...

When you feel your worst, you write your best.

Willie G said...

I would write my worst to feel my best