Self-Loathing:
I'll admit it: I need saving. I don't know if it's
from the Lord type of saving, but more of the saving from the dark,
carnivorous thoughts that gnaw on my soul, bit by precious bit only to
spit it out because its too unsavory to swallow. I feel defective and I
wish I could claw my skin off with nails infested with disease,
yellowed from tar. Then sew it back on so my outer appearance reflects
how ugly I feel inside.
Misery:
Lots of huffing and even more
sighing. I stare down in my empty tankard-even my drink doesn't want to
stick around. I haven't even got a shilling to my name, but I ask the
bartender to pour another. He declines. I've already had too much of
the stuff, but there's tons of room for more.
Ambivalence:
Shrugging.
Stuck. Unmoving and hoping to God that this inertia doesn't last too
long. I don't have the force--the fortitude--to act. And can't time
just tick, tick, tick, faster so my choices are inconsequential?
Everything is beuno, everything is tres mal. It's most definitely the
worst of times.
Perseverance:
Just outside of my window I can
see the sunrise; if I try a little harder I can hear the birds sings as
they help the sun usher in a new day. It's just a matter getting up.
Out of bed. 5 more minutes. All I can take is five more minutes.
Love:
TBC
No comments:
Post a Comment