Even as I sit at my dainty round table
my mind wanders aimlessly;
wondering where should I begin
challenged by the emotions swirling in my chest.
A suppressed fear growing, ripping
through my cavity, sparing nothing in its wake.
Throwing caution to the wind
my desperation grows, knowing no bounds.
What have you do, a person such as this?
Life as they know it consuming.
An empty abyss filled with despair,
aching so brutally breath is overrated.
Understand, oh would you please!
Cannot you see the torture, the agony?
Hear the whispers of my heart
screeching in frustration.
This indescribable, intangible affair
squeezing the very aura from my being;
bleeding me lifeless through means so profound
ancient warriors would cringe and shrink in disbelief.
Can you feel the pulse ebbing in its flow?
The unnatural rhythm of something, some creature
realizing its existence is mere breaths from end;
welcoming the thought on many occasions as relief.
Do you understand internal suffocation?
Know the feeling of such intense suppression
your only thought is to stay busy or die?
Imagined countless moments of cleaving your heart free?
I could reveal the scars – hidden, grown over
like uncared for underbrush in a meadow of daisies
but what good of it, eh?
Would it change your opinions of my wretched musings?
You would think me a blind woman, spouting
“Look here, all your blessings!”
To that, I calmly reply, “Have you loved so deeply,
you stink of its after death?”
Mortified into forgetting your place,
your mouth hangs in the shallows
of the fading light as you wrestle with the
burning desire to know what “loves after death” must smell like.
Eh Gads! You must think me insane
but I plead my heart is entrenched with sot.
So morose and defiled it seeps
not of love or even pain, but of sorrow.
Aghast, your hand flies to your breast
unconsciously protecting your own beater.
Fear encasing you
on the thought IT could be contagious.
My rueful smile plays into your abundance of fright
burrowing into the witless organ you use for thought.
Demanding, blatantly challenging you to see past
your own façade of horror – into mine.
I have my own House of Horror
of which I do not fondly align such common names
so naturally indigenous to our likes.
Rather, I can only explain in mirth its description.
“This too shall pass”, you muster loudly
as though I may slay you with my invisible illness.
Shake your core to a breaking point (I have reached many a time)
only to leave you helpless and bruised – such as I have been.
What do you know of passings?
How can you stand righteously before me
claiming ethereal wonders will impart their wisdom,
nay, their miracles, upon someone as lowly as I?
You cannot – I won’t let you, it is insulting
not only to your kind but to the very essence of my soul.
I shall not let you reap the benefits of my suffering
extending a faux helping hand!
A lifetime of ruin could not have prepared me,
could not have encased my near frozen heart
as if to say, hibernate now, later I will help you thaw.
Only, I dare say, it doesn’t matter a wit no more.
Become quite good at disguise and deceit I have.
Only of myself, naturally, for hurting others is something
I cannot bring myself to compose, though I have wondered
just an insipid puny thought of vengeance, vanished before born.
Heart heavy, laden with a morose film
no amount of suds could vanish from its body
I can speak no more of this treachery
for I am unable to mouth such words.
The turmoil building in my gut
cries as a savage in war, begging to be released
though I cannot for I am choked, held in silence;
naught a tear even shed – locked and loaded.
I am shamed by my bald forthrightness
though accepting of its consequence
knowing well on the morrow you shall not return --
nor shall I.
You turn back with your gloved hand mid-air
as if reaching for some tangible reason of thought.
Searing eyes pierce mine – though I hide nothing –
gleaning the horrifying truth there.
Shocked but for a moment, you recover.
Gloved fingers clenching to fist.
Grave look upon your face as you turn to exit.
Do not pray for me, Darling, for it has not helped thus far.
I don’t allow you to hear my final testimony
meant only for those bringing me Home.
For you cannot thaw this ravaged soul
nor heal the cracked and beaten core.
You may wonder how deep my demise goes.
How such unbelievable tragedy could take a person down.
But you will never get the unfortunate torment of experiencing
such which will soon end my days.
For that, you are truly blessed.
my mind wanders aimlessly;
wondering where should I begin
challenged by the emotions swirling in my chest.
A suppressed fear growing, ripping
through my cavity, sparing nothing in its wake.
Throwing caution to the wind
my desperation grows, knowing no bounds.
What have you do, a person such as this?
Life as they know it consuming.
An empty abyss filled with despair,
aching so brutally breath is overrated.
Understand, oh would you please!
Cannot you see the torture, the agony?
Hear the whispers of my heart
screeching in frustration.
This indescribable, intangible affair
squeezing the very aura from my being;
bleeding me lifeless through means so profound
ancient warriors would cringe and shrink in disbelief.
Can you feel the pulse ebbing in its flow?
The unnatural rhythm of something, some creature
realizing its existence is mere breaths from end;
welcoming the thought on many occasions as relief.
Do you understand internal suffocation?
Know the feeling of such intense suppression
your only thought is to stay busy or die?
Imagined countless moments of cleaving your heart free?
I could reveal the scars – hidden, grown over
like uncared for underbrush in a meadow of daisies
but what good of it, eh?
Would it change your opinions of my wretched musings?
You would think me a blind woman, spouting
“Look here, all your blessings!”
To that, I calmly reply, “Have you loved so deeply,
you stink of its after death?”
Mortified into forgetting your place,
your mouth hangs in the shallows
of the fading light as you wrestle with the
burning desire to know what “loves after death” must smell like.
Eh Gads! You must think me insane
but I plead my heart is entrenched with sot.
So morose and defiled it seeps
not of love or even pain, but of sorrow.
Aghast, your hand flies to your breast
unconsciously protecting your own beater.
Fear encasing you
on the thought IT could be contagious.
My rueful smile plays into your abundance of fright
burrowing into the witless organ you use for thought.
Demanding, blatantly challenging you to see past
your own façade of horror – into mine.
I have my own House of Horror
of which I do not fondly align such common names
so naturally indigenous to our likes.
Rather, I can only explain in mirth its description.
“This too shall pass”, you muster loudly
as though I may slay you with my invisible illness.
Shake your core to a breaking point (I have reached many a time)
only to leave you helpless and bruised – such as I have been.
What do you know of passings?
How can you stand righteously before me
claiming ethereal wonders will impart their wisdom,
nay, their miracles, upon someone as lowly as I?
You cannot – I won’t let you, it is insulting
not only to your kind but to the very essence of my soul.
I shall not let you reap the benefits of my suffering
extending a faux helping hand!
A lifetime of ruin could not have prepared me,
could not have encased my near frozen heart
as if to say, hibernate now, later I will help you thaw.
Only, I dare say, it doesn’t matter a wit no more.
Become quite good at disguise and deceit I have.
Only of myself, naturally, for hurting others is something
I cannot bring myself to compose, though I have wondered
just an insipid puny thought of vengeance, vanished before born.
Heart heavy, laden with a morose film
no amount of suds could vanish from its body
I can speak no more of this treachery
for I am unable to mouth such words.
The turmoil building in my gut
cries as a savage in war, begging to be released
though I cannot for I am choked, held in silence;
naught a tear even shed – locked and loaded.
I am shamed by my bald forthrightness
though accepting of its consequence
knowing well on the morrow you shall not return --
nor shall I.
You turn back with your gloved hand mid-air
as if reaching for some tangible reason of thought.
Searing eyes pierce mine – though I hide nothing –
gleaning the horrifying truth there.
Shocked but for a moment, you recover.
Gloved fingers clenching to fist.
Grave look upon your face as you turn to exit.
Do not pray for me, Darling, for it has not helped thus far.
I don’t allow you to hear my final testimony
meant only for those bringing me Home.
For you cannot thaw this ravaged soul
nor heal the cracked and beaten core.
You may wonder how deep my demise goes.
How such unbelievable tragedy could take a person down.
But you will never get the unfortunate torment of experiencing
such which will soon end my days.
For that, you are truly blessed.
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