Friday, June 13, 2008

Friday the Thirteenth


the last to go was the light in her eyes


waking up with a charlie horse, right leg,

clenching teeth in pain

beating with futile fists

pushing, searching the muscle for a point

trying to release its rock hardness

awake now, limping, sore.


I don't like it. It doesn't need to change.

Offhand destruction of enthusiasm and friendship

I can't apologize

It is who I am


Weeping, trying to keep it together

the children make it easier to fake

some see the tear stains

and redness

others will never see.


I drive all the way to the hospital

with wet sore eyes

but am too afraid to go in

I clear out the library shelf of its

madness literature, 616


I shut off my emotions

I don't want to cry

the hurt becomes worse.


She was dull, blank, hollow

She never smiled

she rarely talked

voice quiet, mostly breath

no humour

no passion

no offense to people she cared about

she stopped crying

stopped loving

stopped creating

stopped living.


The last to go was the light in her eyes.

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