Enthused By Tough Graft

her life had been a rollercoaster of moody upheaval manic fervor from sheer in-exhaustible passion laced with invincible disinhibition and thrust indigo fortunes painted on orange canvas free flowing script of subconscious pull until all interest fainted succumbed to gloomy defeat lack of purpose meaningless rationale and sorrow infused by stagnant apathy in failed motion black water colours on anthracite screens blank words staring onto empty pages adorned with multiple voices she had ruled her world with no limits sky high on endorphins and zeal she had swung from crystalline chandeliers swirled on the ceiling like a mad dervish nauseous on joy she took one more spin out of control and inside her shell she now cowered under a duvet incapable to feel the soft feathers lay morose without comfort naked and torn finger on trigger and fondling the noose unable to balance two halves of emotion the straightjacket hurt and she was the warden of contempt incriminations guilt and shame longed for the pain to recede from her mind forsaken and forgotten in stupor and void apathetic and a pathetic wreck on the rocks the clock ticked and tortured her moments’ toll time for a comeback but no hands on the dial invisible twists turning on ultimate resources soporific disharmony one step at a time until she found kindness and self-love as strange as it sounded she took off the dark veil disregarded objections that enthusiasm was for free objected to the myth of automatic gusto and ardour reasons and feelings required diligent challenge agreed that vivacity was not a god given right at first anthracite oozed from her tarnished brush nibs penned epitaphs mixed with oozing obituaries she could not decipher her own hand writing and smudged acrylic and aquarelle blotches to the tune of fierce and deluded disdain but she accepted the sentence of hard labour claimed the verdict of punishing inquisition tattooed the promise onto sad wrinkled skin regathered excitement until she believed it found new explication by trial and error exuberance was slow as shadows loomed large no swift virginal birth but dried blood on her hands clawed nails but no cross yet she paced her escape ‘these are my roots and wings grafted with toil’ ‘I’m proud and finally enthused by free will’ 18th June 2020