I don’t believe what they say. Dark is just dark. I don’t subscribe to the notion that it is darker before the dawn, or that every thorn has a rose. There are no silver linings in these clouds that pelt my head with rain. The inky black of night settles in, oppressive fingers wrap me in their grasp. Pythons do not release their grip; they simply squeeze tighter when the victim squirms. And squirm I do, to no avail. When they find my lifeless body I will have clawed that snake to bits.
This too shall pass is a misnomer, I think. Oh it might pass, but then like a merry-go-round it will pass this way again and again. All good things must come to an end, and all bad things will begin anew. My glass is half empty and filled with poison. These are things I know for sure. Don’t ask Oprah; she and her zillions of dollars can look on the sunny side of the street. But I know the truth. When it rains it pours. And the water pounding my parka is cold and acidic. There will be no rainbow today. I can think positive and reach for the stars, but the deluge clogging my gutters does not lie. And, oh, my sump pump just broke.
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