The abyss.
It’s where she lives.
It’s where she calls home.
She knows it’s her job
To keep it in its place.
To maintain all forms of order
Lest chaos take the race.
The abyss.
Makes its home in her.
It’s where it lives.
Tightening tendrils suffocating her heart.
Driving her mind into madness.
Promising her to be the Suffering Saint.
Empties her.
Pours her out like a vessel.
She knows she’s in control.
Knows everything
In every way it should be.
Holds the secrets to completeness
Is the expert on happiness.
She sees the world in a perfectly cast frame;
Finely crafted steel formed
Entitlements,
I deserves,
I knows,
And I’m always rights.
The abyss.
It’s why she’s lonely.
Why she feels so out of control.
Why her misery bleeds over
Onto to the hands of those around her.
Taking them all into her suffering.
Driving out all who would welcome her.
She doesn’t know brightly colored welcome signs.
Just simple black and white lonely.
It’s all she has left to offer you;
A place where you can be lonely too.
Z.
This resonates with me. It’s hard to put my finger on, but something about striving in a work environment that eats the soul and doesn’t feed it, aching for encouragement but receiving only criticism. Trying even harder, but losing the strength to move forward. I’ve definitely felt this way in moments of my life. It was a sign to get out. I enjoyed this poem! Thanks for sharing!
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