WRITER'S BUREAU
Hope
I am not my illness and my illness is'nt me,
Although we are a couple to some or less degree...
I cannot remember when it was we met,
I see no cause for celebration.
For you cheated me completely,
Yet with this, you feel elation.
You gave me pain, fatigue and depression,
Nothing good or worthwhile,
You caused me grief with a weighty dedication,
Yet all this you deny.
The day you almost took my life,
Enough was enough...
Illness, you were not my type,
You may of loved me, but tough!
Whilst laying there in the dark,
Feeling so cold and blue,
Illness you deprived me so much,
I wish I'd never met you...
Days passed by, you lingered on..
And I felt the strain,
Illness it was time to say Goodbye,
Never to meet again.
So it comes for me to say to you,
Illness, we are over!
Ive met someone else now
Don't try to ruin this either.
As I walk out the door,
I know that now I'll cope..
For my new woman will help me.
Illness, please meet Hope.
- Anon
The Sweet Song Of Fumes
I've hit it again, like a meteor hits earth;
Crashing down, nothing perserved.
I've burnt my strength to the ground;
Screaming in silence, not a single sound.
How did i get down, so deep down?
Like a bone in winter, smothered underground...
Will this ease; the pain so intensely sad?
Nothing can ease this, it's become so bad.
Bad like the rain on a perfect wedding day,
Or bad like a child, raped on his fourth birthday.
It's something sick and poisonous like fuel,
And like fuel, it destroys me, it's fumes so cruel.
The fumes, wafting and rising as they sing,
Sing sweetly with pleasure as they watch me choking.
Now I leave, wailing as I go,
They've watched me burn, my skin all aglow.
There's nothing now, there never was.
But now, there's nothing, to speak of.
- Laura Gould.
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My Uneventful Ending
Fed up, and sad about things...
Sitting on a ragged sofa (that was new last week) in a slouched pose.
Slouched like the world, waiting for something positive to change this ugly core.
Nothing seems to occur. Nothing makes a difference.
I'm just a blank canvas, and nothing will ever be painted beautifully.
Except a slight sunrise, and bluebirds at dawn, painted when the time comes...
For my uneventful ending.
- Laura Gould.
Morning
I open my eyes.
Bright lights?
Hello, pink pill.
I digest thee.
Warm water upon me.
Spine unfurl.
Cloth-wrapped limbs.
Confined forever.
Protein and dairy.
Adieu, nausea.
The clock ticks.
Time dies.
Oak and alloy.
Key used.
Pollution, Oxygen's lover.
Fill my lungs.
Chaos surrounds me.
Beautiful madness.
Ringtones blare.
Reassure needed.
Boots upon the ground.
Puddles of despair.
I have arrived.
- India Horton