Tumbling

Alone.

I ache.

Inside I churn and toss.

This way– that way–

I created this merry-go-round.

Make it stop spinning,

Let me off.

A hole rests ahead.

And yet it seems a canyon.

I have been to this canyon before.

I cry out to you!

Screaming from the core of me.

Love me! All of me.

But you don’t hear me.

I am drenched in my tears.

I am alone.

The cavern in my chest collapsing around me.

Why do you abandon me?

Why don’t you seek me?

Why don’t you call to me?

Why do you leave me here?

Disconnected.

We are not One.

I am alone.

When I call to you, you silence me.

You do not reach back.

You put your hands on me.

But they don’t want my heart.

You want to connect with me in your way.

You do not find me the same.

I am alone.

Tumbling. Crumbling.

Dying.

My breath is faint within me.

I waste away.

End me.

Stop sending me tumbling.

Stop trying to hold my flesh,

While my heart bleeds out in your hands.

Writers Block

For some reason, I’m suffering from unshakeable depression.  It’s as though there’s an unsatiable chasm in my chest, draining away all of my energy, creativity, and distorting all of my emotions.
This is also affecting my ability to write, and make beautiful things come to life in words.  Which causes further frustration, leading to more wilting away of self.
I’m finally home with my husband again – there’s no desire or longing for our relationship to improve, I wonder why it even exists.
I’m finally back in my house, to do as I please – and the reminders that I am literally alone in this empty part of the country creep in, shadowing the gratitude I have to being home.
I’m finally able to sit down and write my story for an upcoming anthology – and nothing feels right.  Nothing desires to be written.  The story I am working on I am going to shelve, and see if something else comes up.  I have until mid-May, surely there’s a story floating out there wishing to be told.  I hope very much that it jumps into my head and allows me to bear it witness.
Story telling is my life.  Without it I am nothing.  My religious convictions are my life, without them I am nothing.
Today, I lie in bed – my mother tending my son, both thinking I am asleep – as my emptiness lends to the withering of my soul.  I must find something to slay the beast, in order to perk my spirits!  Alas, is this depression debilitating.
And I roll over, closing my eyes, wishing the world away.

Broken Dreams

Last night I had a dream about you and I.  You were living in your life, and I in mine.

You represented all that I am going through now.  And it hurt.

All I wanted was you.  All I’d ever wanted was you.
You just never wanted me the same.

In this dream while we danced in our own separate lives, you raising your kids, and I raising mine, you were happy.  You didn’t want to leave.  You had found all that you were looking for, and I was still lonely.

What broken mess that I encounter, the tears they were so bitter.

All I wished for has never come true.  And I wait for the day that I will find such happiness that brightens up you.