Quick fingers-- my only escape

This is my therapy,

when Im down and confused.

when i can’t remember those that care about me,

when I feel broken and used.

This is what I do,

when my wrists and mind are already bruised.

What I do? I write to you!

each word flowing straight out of my heart,

no more “break-throughs” to debut,

just my art; to set apart:

my emotions and my “happy-face”,

my mask and my disgrace,

they soon become defaced whilst my quick fingers replace,

my instantaneous disguise.

That happy place I wish to be,

is no longer existent,

I don’t even see it in this weighty seat.

The seat I may sit on until I take a stand,

I don’t need a hand,

I need a place where I can land.

Oh Lord please tell me if there’s a plan.

If so, I might believe,

If not, thats okay, but someone please tell me where else to look.

I am in a wasteland of quicksand and there seems to not be an escape.

I’m a closed book with no hook.

shut tightly and securely.

I assume that surely one day I will be banged enough against a wall,

to open up-- to open up to all.

Reviews

[Karmee]

Intriguing write really, most enjoyable read.