Watching You Wither


I wish that I could turn you off,
like a watch battery, just stop-
but you just never let up.
Never let me rest. Sweet rest
cannot even be forced at best
and, oh, how I wish that I could.
Just one night would do,
when I am not driven,
constantly imprisoned by your view.
Your intent is to keep me wound,
tightly bound by these thoughts,
these emotions so cruel a plague
to carry a conscience so heavily played upon
not within just my mind, but heart as well.
I dwell. Can you not see it?
I know you at least can sense
the towering ache on which I dwell.
And when at last I succumb,
no longer bite my tongue
and flood this page with words,
with life, I alight my soul to life
spread its wiles, its mysterious eye
into the world my reality lies behind
and my heart, she sighs to the tune
of cacophonous tapping on these keys
but still my soul, she smiles, in peace
at ease with the freedom to release
these mental pleas by words to spew
onto this page to bear clear these truths
she often begs to bring light onto
and most times the fight, once through,
is still not enough for words to ring clear,
shine through, for blind eyes they fall upon-
the eyes of the world simply cannot relate
to the misery that is at stake
when an artist’s heart and soul both break
and cannot bear the weight it’d take to fuse,
to mend the rapidly withering ends.

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