This thing

Tired of this road I’m on

sinking in the muck and mire.

Ankle deep and getting worse

my brand new shoes are stained.

I can’t find my way out of this

I can’t see any light.

The silence is deafening, it’s freezing here

I am slowly turning to stone.

The sight of my face is foreign to me

I’ve cut my hair and changed my clothes.

But I’m still the one underneath it all

and I just don’t care anymore.

It’s a vicious, spinning cycle

of pain and grief and shame.

From one to the next and the next one again

right back to where it begins.

It starts with me missing the life

that would somehow change who I am.

The dream that was taken away from me

when you walked out of the door.

The next step is trying to numb it all

and make it go away.

To drown in the depths of that darkness

just trying to survive.

Then comes the guilt that inevitably comes

as the numbness starts to subside.

The guilt that I am to blame for it all

because that is all that I can see.

Then comes the shame that this is now

the thing I have become.

This wretched mess, this disastrous waste

this thing that won’t go away.