| *loolaville _poetry | |||||
| Three Days (For Sarah) What I wouldn’t give to be normal, to have days where my life sentence of struggle is lifted like a window after a heavy storm. To not be controlled by the time of a broken clock beating and ticking inside of me, bearing no mercy but only silent witness to this pain, splitting my body, splitting my mind into half sanity. Every morning as the sun slices my empty bed into geometric shades of pale yellow and white, I begin my day tired and aching, hovering over a toilet, sore and sadly reminded of my insides burning and fighting their way out. I am nothing more than a robot, trained to ingest medications one pill after the other; white, pink, blue, green. They fit into my hand like tiny rocks and pebbles, waiting to be swallowed and begin their work. And all day they work inside of me, as busy as bees. Working inside this body of mine, no longer familiar to me. I command it as my foreign slave and thrust it through the day, fighting with it like an angry and bitter wife. The beauty is lost and joy has escaped, fleeing elsewhere like a thief in the night. If mercy hears my cries she turns her face away from me and leaves me broken every day after the world dies into the night and I have retreated into a numb slumber, empty bottles and dried tears around me. Tonight I say to the emptiness, give me my life back. Give me my life I never had to begin with, but hoped for in the fragment of light I felt when my pain ceased, randomly tripping elsewhere for three days. Tonight I beg to have those three days of hope again, to not be kept waiting til only death can release my body to peace. Return to me those three days so I might stretch them and somehow bend time around them, to live in them forever. |
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