Painfully confused she wanders the streets of her own mind.
Of course, it's dark, it's rainy, and she's lost.
Again.
She's been down this road.
Time after time she's been down this road.
as raindrops bead and drip from her brow,
she realizes she knows where she is. Always has...
and for some reason she is still lost,
still confused.
She knows which way to turn, what sidestreets to take
and how to make it through the blackness.
Still, in her mind, she walks down that same dark street.
"What's the use in taking that other road?
I've tried that one before, and each time I end up back here."
Walking down that street she can hear my voice,
trying to rise above that of her own
but does not understand my words.
She chooses not to understand them.
That road of hers is hard to walk,
it's breaking her, she knows it,
but it's comfortable.
It's the only thing she knows anymore.
Happiness is not to her what it once was.
Happiness has become that grotesquely bright monster that wants to end her cozy suffering.
And there I sit, behind the glass wall
screaming, yelling,
faintly heard,
to her I am barely audible.

I can't reach out to her,
and it's killing me too.

03/20/2003

Author's Note: It hurts so much worse when the people you love are hurting...

Posted on 03/20/2003
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia