Memoir, Poetry, Writing

Dig

I think I’m at my low
I’ve been in the trenches
so often, so long it’s hard to know
I get down so deep
I dig I dig
until I can’t see the
sunshine no more
the only birds I see
are bats
the only signs of life–
my hallucinations,
my dreams,
my cat
I like it down here
it’s cozy, warm
but blinding
I refuse to stand
up, look around
and face what is beside me–
a life
a life I’ve designed
for one
I’ve got all that
I’ve asked for
as if my future’s
just begun
but my mind it
likes to default
to old habits
fears
and men
I’d carry this life around if
I thought I could depend on it
Mornings are good
my world anew if only
for a moment or two
but nighttime brings
a heavy load unable
to be lifted
no friend to call
no mother’s teet
no man strong
enough to lift it

6 thoughts on “Dig”

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