I take sleeping pills
to anoint the ache,
stay awake long enough
to feel myself float
out of mind- nirvana in a bottle.
Blessed are the forgotten and
holy are the gods
who are able to forsake them.
I read a book of poetry
it makes no sense, except
to my other self-
this lady who writes of ache and madness
is my sister-
she is the mother of all sadness.
I feel for her,
because I've grown numb
to my own emotions-
a way of survival.
They tell me:
if the depression doesn't cease soon,
I should seek counsel-
I think:
if the sorrow keeps on arresting my stability
I will seek refuge in silence,
shout out the voices of reason and cling
to the ones inside my head...
Amberlee Carter
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crawling-in-my-skin-the-eternal-itch/
