Am feeling
History's long fingers
Waking my tired soul.
Another night passes
In the wee hours
Of the coming morn.
Where normal people
Are deep
In their REM sleep.
Except me.
It's 3 am
Sitting on my bed
Pouring my soul
Across the digital divide.
Wanting to turn
The impossible
Into the possible.
Where everything isn't
An unstable liquid
Malleable
To the touch.
Fueled by
An overactive
And creative mind.
In leaving
These dark memories
In the past.
Not surfacing
In panic attacks
Or prolonged bouts
Of depression.
Am so tired
Having to take
A regimen of pills
To be "normal".
Achieving
Short term success.
If
At all.
Therisa © 2012
Author's note: Another poem from my poetic morgue. I wrote this, during a time of severe side effects from one of my numerous anti-depressants that I have taken, over the years.
1 comment:
This is so well expressed, Therisa. I can feel the pain of the three a.m. thoughts circling.......I am often awake then too, due to sleep apnea.......I tend to read till I get sleepy again. It takes me out of my head-circling..........
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