Carried down from cynical stairwells,
gravel accented with failure, loss, and violence.
I can no longer see the road where she danced.
Shadowed now by muscle and tissue,
bonded with a hurting skin.
Pebbles curse the path at her feet,
grinding together and dusting the air.
Her chest heaved,
pulling in dirtied breaths.
She did not know it would plant its seed deep in her lungs.
She did not know that all she would feel again,
would only be numb.
Inside her the toxic grew.
Flushing hope into a space that would be locked
and swollen into fear.
Darkness became a new friend—
and then an old one.
A daily ritual of lost movements vined up her stairway,
clogging entrances and destroying exits.
The cycle of depressed stones weighed heavy,
sinking into the tender skin,
and scraping bone.
It’s hard to break.
She sees no windows on the wall
and the sun doesn’t reach her world.
Calls to recover,
hit pavement instantly as they leave her lips.
Lost, is an understatement,
that needs far more than just a definition.
She does not know her way—
And I have yet to even ask her name.
The broken are the most interesting aren’t they.
I love the fourt and fifth stanzas. The imagery is terrific.
We are all a little broken, I think 🙂 Part of being human. Thank you so much for stopping by. I appreciate you reading.
Danyelle Franciosa says
While I was reading this I remember those times I was in the dark and I was losing myself for that situation. By the way thanks a lot for sharing this to us.
Thank you Danyelle 🙂
This one cuts close…I can feel those pebbles grinding, the dirtied breaths…and to not so much as know her name, yet feel the resonating waves…we know so little, yet, when we are in tune, we know when help is needed. Powerful piece…dark and heavy…and if I’m being honest, I sometimes wonder if I know MY name. Relate.
Depression is a scary thing and I think it pulls all of us in at one time or another. It is easy to get lost in this world and so hard to step outside those moments. It is good to be aware of others journeys and to know that sometimes someone just wants to be heard. xoxoxo
This poem definitely took me back to a period of my life of darkness & despair, when you in that darkness you get confronted with a lot of your demons and knowing you can’t even name them…the imagery is outstanding.
Darkness is a part of all our lives, it is how we manage it that counts. 🙂 Thank you for reading Chimnese.
Shelley Workinger says
“Vined up her stairway” is a fantastic image!
I appreciate that Shelley! Thank you for reading. xoxo