It’s so strange to think
That at a time in my life
When thought
Is exactly what
I am trying to avoid,
It seems to be all I can do.
Behind the temporarily
Deep-set eyes of intermittent
Insomnia, my brain is
Not so much swimming
As it is drowning
In thoughts
That are doing me absolutely
No good,
At all.
Unfortunately it is not
Just my head
That suffers from late night
Or perhaps,
Early morning,
Internal conversations, debates
And questions.
My poor, bruised heart,
So distant yet so obviously
Connected, cannot
Escape.
With each apology it grows
Heavier, under the burden of
Inescapable sorrow and inexcusable
Stress.
But how can it be
That something so anchored
To the bottom of my chest
By worry
Can constantly feel as if
It is rising?
Never have I felt something
So peculiar
As this simultaneous
Flutter and fall.
Like a flower striving
For sunlight, my heart climbs
Further up my throat,
Destined for my tongue
To express its true pain.
But mine is not
A heart of beauty.
Nor do I believe that
It is as alive
As it should be,
For the poisons of jealousy,
Anger and greed are slowly
Eating away at it
With sharp teeth
And vicious appetites
And I am in no mind
To tell them that this pain
Is nothing less
Than exactly
What I deserve.
It is thoughts such as these
That consume not only
My waking hours
But my dreaming minutes
Or even seconds
For fantasy doesn’t survive
In this frame of mind.
It thrives on hope
As fantasy is weaker
Than it appears.
And the strength to see
The good in the bad
Is something
That my wilting heart
Cannot seem to muster.
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