I am a writer. Therefore, I am not sane. -Edgar Allan Poe
Children are crying
Screaming aloud
Blood is scattered
Spread throughout
Pain and sorrow
All around
Loud sounds
Screeching through the air
Bullets flying
Children dying
Guns are given
Out like toys
Babes in arms
Little girls and boys
Violence is the only way
Grab the children
Seize the day
I have forgotten
What longing for another
Feels like
–
A recluse for years
Stuck under
My chosen rock
–
I fear that love
Will continue to
Elude me
Once I return
To humanity
–
That is why
The rock
Has become
My only love
Stuck on this plane
I cannot fly
My wings
Clipped by my mind
I writhe in pain
Try and try
Stuck on this plane
I cannot fly
–
–
–
Misery has been
Such good company
The devil on my shoulder
Begging me to give in
We dance barefoot to a waltz
On a floor of glass and nails
Living with misery
We are now one
Heroine addicts
Looking at the girl
With razor carvings
Blanketing her arms and legs
–
They turn away from her
“She doesn’t have a real problem”
–
As in life she’s unaccepted
In this world of recovery
–
Walking away
She gives in to
No longer belonging in this world
–
Desperately searching
To find the end
–
The end of her pain
–
A girl in-need of help
Never found it
–
Even in a place
Where all can be helped
Floating toward you
Your gentle hands
Cradle my soul
Floating toward you
Your gentle hands
Cradle my soul
It wasn’t after
You destroyed our home
It wasn’t after
Your constant berating
It wasn’t after
You put your hand through the wall
It wasn’t after
I swallowed those pills
–
It wasn’t when
You called the ambulance
It wasn’t when
I was revived
It was when
You finally left
–
It was when
I finally had a moment to think,
About myself
–
It was when
I realized
I could be happy
–
Without you…
B.A. Wilcox © 