Friday, September 11, 2015


In the beginning, I didn't believe in any of it: the doctors, therapy, medicine.
I only knew that I wanted to sleep forever and not have to think anymore.
And if I couldn't do that - I wanted to die, just cease to exist.

It sounds so clinical when I write it down, and looking back,
I know; it wasn't that cut and unadorned.
No - not by a long thought. I hesitate to look at those years too closely

even though I grasp the whole life left unexamined and all that.
But, it would be catastrophic if digging into the soup that was
my insanity helped it resurface in any way.

Poetic Asides Wednesday September 9, 2015 - prompt - a small poem

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