2 Jul 2013

There are days

Some days she woke in her old skin

Torso deep in nameless wild yearnings

Teeth gnawing at brittle strings that tied loosening bits of her to
loosening bits.

Who would have thought, emptiness could feel so tight?
Web tangled in her vast unhappiness, spiraling down into the
dark foggy nothingness of her being.

Her tired eyes following shadowy fingers pointing at haunting ugly faces

Her every breath a sharp lashing beating at her soul.

There are days when she was living and days when she was trying to live,

it astonished her how similar the two.

To open her eyes each morning, her body weighing her down,

Bones too heavy, limbs too numb

Tears under lowered lids, burned with shame, pity and self-loathing.

Even her feelings did not belong to her.