My story
Some Poetry... I wrote ... might disturb...
Written by cateblack
The worms are crawling...
The worms are crawling around inside my head
I feel them bore through my grey matter
Leaving tunnels of emptiness through which my fears fly
There is an edge over which I crouch
Will I descend into the abyss that yawns before me?
The threat of darkness, the promise of oblivion
I read Martha Mary’s story of how compassionate it was to seek death
To end the sorrowful sorry life that I call my own
Seek a consummation devoutly to be wished
Centrelink sends me shrieking – Munch’s scream
I cling to the vestiges of sanity
Build a wall to separate me from the reality
The funny thing is that a call comes in and on goes the face
The voice is “professional” or so it seems to me perhaps not in truth
The fingers tap out a staccato agitation
Please let this be over soon
How long do I have to stay in control?
Long hours, long days, impatience on to the next event
The days progress fruitless devoid of meaning
Each one a replica of the previous and no different to the next
Its name changes but its face only reflects a semblance of change
Does the void offer solace? I long for its oblivion, its absence of feeling
Do I actually feel? Is there any answer that feeds that question? Perhaps 42!
Not in truth, there is no answer, there are only questions.
Each one feeding the nervous Nellie living within me
Egging me on to be finally compassionate with this demon
Killing me softly with its lure, baiting me to be kind,
Urging me to kill me with kindness, as a kindness
The day melds into the blackness of night, in reality the storm brews outside
Lightening flashes the rain has the potential to fall, will it? It does.
The thunder rumbles outside these windows
Promising an unleashing of a tremendous torrent – a promise fulfilled
The fantasy inside my head reflects the reality of my world outside
My heads thunders, pain pierces my eyes like lightening
Screams echo in the space behind my thoughts
I wish I could write poems and stories that raise the spirit
Not reflect the destitution of the soul
Is it my task to tell how the world is not?
Rather than tell how it can be
I am deluding myself with the promise of diamonds
A lump of coal – poor quality at that
My story is that of wishful thought
My story is of no consequence
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I wrote this one day at work... I was fine until the storm broke outside and I started to get distressed...
I am sorry if it disturbs anyone...
It is not a particularly good piece of poetry but I still like it... it is how I felt at the time... and everytime I read it I am transported to the beauty of the storm outside...