I was rummaging through some drawers last night and came accross the artist’s proof that I had to send in when one my poems was published.
My DH once said that it was pretty grim and made him depressed…he wasn’t far off. I was in a very dark place when I wrote this, and just reading it gives me cold chills, it was not a pretty place to be. How does one describe depression to someone that has not lived it, to someone that has not felt it.
I like to think that this was a good attemtp at doing just that.
Running through a tunnel
Running through a tunnel,
a dark tunnel all alone
the tunnel is my mind
the tunnel is my soul…
running from my shadow
with no hope of ever escaping
searching for an open end
to feel life once more
drowning in the quicksand
that is my thoughts
no hope of an outcome
of the darkness that haunts me so
scared of something you cannot see
living in fear of the untouchable
no escape on this endless tunnel
the tunnel, I call my soul.