BROKEN.

Yes. This is new. It is also a kind of exercise. I thought I’d add this proviso after reading the piece again this morning. I was in a great mood last night, but I have been very much into writing lately and I decided with this piece to see how far I could visit the darker side, if only temporarily. And boy did it work. As I wrote more and more of this piece I could feel it affecting me. A sort of self suggestion. By the end a strange thing had happened. I actually felt as down and as miserable as the person in the poem which was certainly not my intention. I did not mean to bring myself down but I did. And that my friends is the power of writing on a writer. Beware sometimes of what you write.

In the quietest hours, just before the dawn.

I am awake, suddenly, in a sweat

The world stills as if in slumber.

But I toss and turn … I am covered in cold sweat.

And I hear my heart, my metronome,

… I feel the blood rushing through my veins.

I often waken from dreams of you, of us, of loss.

… but mostly another night spent without you.

And my mind races down avenues of disbelief

My metronome speeds away. Breakneck…

… terror, such fearful terror of my life now

How can I understand … what I don’t understand?

How can I believe … the unbelievable?

How can I live in this empty shell?

… with such an empty worthless (it seems) heart

How can I live with these feelings?

And as the dawn comes, as the first rays of a new day arrive

I will stand by the door

I will question, I will try to process the last years

I slurp tea and shake my head sadly … such sadness

… and that sadness never ends, never goes away.

It just grows until it fills my entire being … my soul.

What do I do? What can I do? What should I do?

If there were a god, he would surely help me in this black stygian despair

Wouldn’t he? No, he won’t. For believing in some god … is..

Like knocking on an empty door, shouting at an empty sky.

… so … so… just leave me alone

Yes I will wear a happy smile. I will don a cheerful face.

I will face another day with fake optimism and bravado,

… but inside?

Inside I am broken.

© 2018 Stan M Rogers. All rights reserved.

Cold Dry Kiss.

I wrote this in 2008 I think. Me at my darkest I’m afraid.

 

I am Death. As I lay my hands upon life it withers.

I am Completion. All I start is finished.

I am Finality. The end is in everything that my cruel fingers touch.

I am Armageddon. The final reckoning for all that is love.

I am Execution. In all young things I see their demise.

I am Destruction. I can turn love to hate.

Feel the end in this in my cold dry kiss.

 

 

© 2008 Stan M Rogers. All rights reserved.