Dark dungeon… her familiar cage
Stone walls echo her dripping misery…
Skittering sounds mock her ceaseless thrashing
Heartbeat darkly pounding in her useless rage
Imprisoned in filth and sweat… tortured hours on end
Haunting the blood of her fevered brain without mercy…
Three words chasing away the sleep that wants in
Piteous cry… what have I to negotiate?
What will bring peace to this suffering soul?
Does the drawer in hand’s reach promise only self-hate?
Spoon and needle… waiting in bedside table
Liquid fire to cleanse vertiginous thoughts
It’s only a hundred bloody words, girl…
Surely you are able?
© 2012 – Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw. All Rights Reserved
