Debt

Once again I touch the glass,
My lips and against the chill of the glass –
Razor’s edge
Of unforgiving crystal.

Golden nectar,
Nourished by caring arms
And shining eyes –
This joy is borrowed.

I cannot say why I return over and over
Why I am drawn,
Lodestone to pole
To this dissociation with life.

Where does this path point?
Where do these feet pull
This slow,
Reluctant mind?

Escape had been so easy,
Upon a time
I knew paths to release
Before these shackles of Duty.

This pull is more than desire,
It is compulsory,
A need to flee,
To not be.

I am not searching for nothing,
I do not yearn for nonexistence,
I only wish to escape
The trap of this reality.

This reality,
Wherein a moment of peace
Is bought at the price
Of a day of pain.

This reality
Where I watch Being
Dissolve continually
into unbeing.

So.
So I make the trade.
I buy escape
For the price of depression.

Pain deferred,
Deferred with interest.
Why is there always such cost
For joy?

Another sip.
One last sip
Takes me from reality
To escape.
I sign the debt.

Advertisements

7 responses to “Debt

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Mick On Everything

Just a regular guy who is interested in everything

Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.

HASTYWORDS

Turning Tears & Laughter into Words

A Word From The Raven's Beak

Or whatever I came up with whilst eating cereal this morning

t h i n g s + f l e s h

lyrical essays on songwriting + other mysteries

Syl65's Blog

Poetry, creative writing and a desire to inspire..... Isaiah 40: 31 But they who wait upon the Lord will get new strength. They will rise up with wings like eagles. They will run and not get tired. They will walk and not become weak..

Words are mighty

poems, and poems again

Itty Bitty Journeys

Epic Tales of Tiny Adventures

michaelalexanderchaney

literary fictions, flashes, fiascos

All That I Love

Because Writing Is Therapy

poetry by skull

The Musings of N. E. Skull

kellygemmill

The heart has to be able to act against itself. (m.m.)

A Holistic Journey

Finding my way back out of motherhood -- while mothering

Experimental Fiction

"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Just breathe.

Life is beautiful. And there is so much to be grateful for.

Ouroboros in Arkadia

A work in progress

Nathan Blixt

Art, Text, Code, Design

%d bloggers like this: