The Place of Dark Slumber
I will not allow myself to lie down again in the place of dark slumber,
for the demons they feed me only the weakest, unfinished parts of myself,
and they force me to drink from the buried flasks of my guilt,
and they whisper on auto play into the ears of my self-loathing,
and they find and bust loose the locked doors to my hidden chambers of worthlessness and shame,
and they berate me and beat me until I am broken pile of hopelessness,
doused in my life's sewage and dying from starvation of my own Light of goodness and God,
leaving me choking and spitting in a sea of fear and despair so black and menacing that sinking seems the only escape.
I recognize the exhaustion,
I feel the curtain brushing the periphery of my aura,
I rub at the nagging film that clouds my vision,
I push the auto pilot button on all essential life functions,
I force myself to ignore the lead weights that now inhabit my legs, the terrifying slow motion sound of people's voices when they speak to me, and the aches and pains of climbing in and out of new holes every day.
I call out to the survivor deep within me and tell her to prepare for another war, but I can't seem to find her no matter how loudly I scream,
and all the while I am hearing in the near distance the place of dark slumber beckoning me to the comfort of his hole.
May 15, 2020
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