I can be just a teeny melodramatic sometimes. Well, really only in the wee hours of the morning after I’ve tossed and turned all night. I am not one for drama. Those nights though, when the day has been rough and sleep refuses to visit, I take it out on the page. I am fairly certain if too many of my silent midnight ravings were to be set loose, I would quite possibly find myself locked securely away somewhere.

Thank goodness for the sanctuary and release of words . . . Usually, I find these bits of craziness tucked into my nightstand months after they were written, I generally have no idea what led me to write them. This one though, this was after a particularly rough IEP meeting, fighting the school, again, for the services my son required and deserved. I got them, but the battle wore me down. Everything was wearing me down.

I always feel better after I spill my lunacy upon a page, the therapeutic power of the pen is magical.

Things
in my mind
are not
fit to be
thought.

Aberrations
of normalcy,
detached
from
reality,
if there
is indeed
such a
thing.

Purging
and
pouring
into the
abyss of
what used
to be.

Filling
to the brim
with bile.

The bane
of simple
existence
too much a
burden upon
battered and
bruised
shoulders that
have carried
more than
their share
of suffering
never meant
for them.

Bones crush,
hearts break,
spirits begin
to cry out
for mercy
that will
never come.

Their thirst will
never be
quenched,
hunger will
never be
quelled,
not even
when there
is nothing
left of me
to feed upon.

Darkness
will cloak
me in
the fear
I no longer
have strength
to fight,
I no longer
care to fight.

Respite and
retreat
are what I
long for now.

No more
battle,
no more
victory,
no more
defeat.

Leave me
to my misery
until the light
beckons me
to rise
and face
the battle
once again.

Crystal R Cook