When (part 3). A poem.

When will I be free of this life and all its bitter swill?
Force fed, every grueling meal mixed with bile and contempt,
returned to sender in a spray of misgivings,
a spent force that paints the tile in acrimonious colour.

When will this life leave me be, so I can rest in audacious peace?
When will I sleep and dream of nothing, free from pain and imagination
that only ever led me astray.
When will I break the chains you locked me in, through no fault of your own.

When will I leave this sad and weary shell behind,
wander with spirits, both bottled and ghostly,
and drown my last remaining dregs of hope in failure.


15 thoughts on “When (part 3). A poem.

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      1. You’re welcome, it’s nice to be a part of a group of people who are in the same boat as I am. I love being able to share my stories without feeling judged. I feel secure, and I love seeing everyone’s stories, and knowing what they are going through and feeling.

        Liked by 1 person

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