It feels good. It breathes relief.
It carries comfort. It summons the calm.
It shows the sorrow. It brings the emptiness.
It kills the little life left. It screams “help”.
It’s the numbing of the pain, the saving vice
of the worthless. But when did worthlessness strike?
In the creation of the person? Or…the vice.
I’ve made this bed of anguish to lay in with
my nightmares. Will I wake from it? Or
turn this sleep into a coma.
It’s time for change.