by Annette M. Parrott

This hole in my soul is devouring me
Casting gray on each day overpowering me

While I cry from my eyes my spirit shakes
No longer hoping, barely coping with each breath I take

Is it rejection? Or my reflection that keeps me here
The present cast or characters past that my heart can scarcely bear

I curl undead in my bed my skin on open sore
Would give my all to stop withdrawal from the touch that is no more

How can this be, I was so free, even though holding back
I thought aware and did not fear, a complete surprise attack

The cold stone that has been thrown weighing my chest down
Each step a cringe a torturous binge on a horrific merry-go-round

The agony real though well concealed to those who choose not to look
Quite sanely, very plainly, tangible words in my book

I’ll quickly mend—I do pretend—and seize control of each day
But meals and showers are limited powers to keep the anguish at bay

These musing writings, are my fightings, ways to keep me sane 
Masochist exploring yet the sadist ignoring the causes of my pain

Distressful urgency a lesser emergency with the rising of the sun
The midnight pain temporarily wanes and give way to a stuporous numb

I see no mend or healthy end in any future for me
Sounds melodramatic but grounded in fact it is more misery.

Misery by Annette M. Parrott

© Copyright 2004. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

TimBookTu Logo

Return to the Table of Contents | Return to Main Page