Chronic Illness
Pain is a constant
Like the ticks of a clock
Counting out the agony of my existence
Without pain, there is no life
Or is there?
Is there an old shoe box in my brain
Where lies the faded picture of a better time?
I am afraid.
If I knew that others surf the wave that bandies me about like a sock in a dryer,
Would I stop swimming?
When others build castles from the sand that swallows me whole,
Does the Lifeguard care?
Does He even notice?
My salvation is a dream,
So I escape into the gospel of Beautyrest,
Where I place all my hope.
I am a creature of the night,
Dreading the sunrise when my clock ticks again
Living for the quiet, dark night to erase my pain, my memory, my tomorrow.
Is heaven just a state where we finally sleep for all eternity?
That is my greatest hope.
Because my shoebox is way too small.
And these waves are way too big.
And the sunrise, it keeps coming, no matter how many Ambien I load in my clip.
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