i can feel the changes coming

as the pressure builds up

inside my chest, deep in my soul.


i rage against the inevitable,

a racing writhing that leaves me

confused and frantic,

desperate to escape.


misery grows as i acquiesce.


walking in footsteps not my own causes

pain and damage,

strips me bare,

leaves me angry.


resentment builds.

I can’t identify the source.

corporeal needs frustrate.


all i want is to be left alone

to wallow and revel in the dark confusion,

the sad bleakness that is so familiar.

By Em

I like writing. Words help me unpack my thoughts so things start to make sense. I suppose that once I figure out life, the universe, and everything (my thanks to Douglas Adams), I'll have nothing left to say. "Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing, and learn as you go." E. L. Doctorow

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