Misery

Misery loves company,
and it has come to me to full it's selfish need.
It holds it's arms out to me,
smiling and grinning all the while.
Misery laughs, an dputs it's arm around me, telling me it's glad I came.
I try to protest.
I try to explain.
But I am mute in my age.
Misery nods to me in agreement. "Yes," it says, "you are very old."
I point to my eyes where no wrinkles exist.
I point to the places where I do not sag.
But Misery silences my useless gestures with a frightening laugh. I cringe away.
My hands are bound, drawn to the sound
of Misery's voice, I have no choice.
All that I have ever loved has been taken from me because of my love for it.
Misery knows this, because I know this.
Cut off the nose to spite the face.
I long to be forgiven by all those I have hurt.
I sit in the dust.
Misery stands, my leash in hand
like a soldier by my side.
Misery smiles to all the passers-by,
and they grin lifelessly right back.
They see my leash and do nothing to help, as
some wear their own empty collars.
Misery kicks me in the dirt, and
I writhe by it's feet.
It speaks to me, love tainting it's voice:
"My dear child, I am here for good. I have chosen you above all others.
You are my love."
I am Misery's chosen one.
My hands are bound, I'm drawn by the sound
of Misery's voice, I have no choice.
This was fated to be my world, I know that now. I'd kill myself to take the pain away, if I wasn't such a coward.
Misery laughs at me,
tugging gently on my leash; a signal to come.
I keep my eyes down, and I rise.
My scraped knees are hidden beneath dirty pants, and my bruised and broken ribs beneath a bloodstained shirt.
Old blood.
Misery doesn't care.
It watches me in amusement as I try to walk.
It tugs my leash in cruel play.
I am ugly.
I am distorted.
Misery likes me this way.
It disfigured me, anyways.
I limp over the barren ground tracing the footsteps of those before me. I have no shoes.
My feet are bleeding.
The dirt drinks in my blood as
Misery drinks in me.
I am barren of all that I love.
I need relase from my chains but
my hands are bound, I'm drawn to the sound
of my Misery's voice, I have no choice.
So I am chosen.
Damned.
Blessed.
Whichever, it is unbecoming.
Misery loves company, and
Misery loves me.

-end (October 25th 2001)