The courage of the pain-wracked, in spite of the onslaught!
The smile forced for others. A convincing mask.
There is agony behind it, and the dread it will never end,
and the frustration of helplessness, the hopelessness of it.
The anxiety cuts deep, silently crying out for help -
loaded, as it is, with hidden self-pity.
Self-pity? Imbecile! Who cares how much you hurt?!
A red hot sword journeying through the nerves:
Hell's Imp, playing in brain with nervous system,
prodding with pronged fork, a skilled torturer
inflicting agony upon the cursed Soul
with a glee that knows no bounds,
supremely skilled in his favourite sport.
The Imp is resolute, there is no anaesthetic.
He has been ignored too long, now his presence is felt.
So the suffering radiates, like a fearful nuclear fallout,
and there is only the primitive tongue to express
such depth of pain. But it hasn't the words,
it is inadequate. Should it be cut out?
And the futile sobbing. So ineffective.
Sustenance, too, is rendered impossible - is stored
in memory's archive with fellow outdated files,
while watching others tuck in. Starvation beckons.
It has become an obsession, food.
A substance more precious than diamonds.
But how about the eyes of the afflicted, the eyes?
Constantly dulled by the hidden curse
and often moist with tears. And the mirror -
that face in there is the face of a dead woman,
so drawn and pale with hollow cheeks,
a ghostly Seer, whose prophecies
bring such apprehension. A merciless judge
passing sentence upon the innocent:
a life sentence of neverending pain.
Courageous? No. I am scared...so scared.
My humblest apologies, dear friends, for taking so long to visit you all. I am currently awaiting a brain scan. In the meantime, I will visit you all as often as I possibly can. Thank you so, so much for all of your kind support😊
Been missing you all so much xxx
