Decomposition of My Dignity
I am being held hostage by a pressing force of incognizant, and I am impregnated in a world of spiraling storms of confusion.
Fragments of memories prods my mind. Sudden and swift memories of my failings and sins are but a measured minute of my life.
Why can't I remember slipping into this fog of incertitude, this doom pressing force of incognizant.
My heart grows numb against the days and nights that I spend in despondency.
Familiar faces shifts to peculiar and ill-boding images.
Solitude is a conundrum of emptiness. A bittersweet embrace.
My tongue is locked in an aphasia space.
My brain has forgotten its ability to command, and so my legs and arms have no will of its own.
I want to run away, run to a place that will strike a familiar note in my brain.
I hate being handled by strangers who pull at me and torture me with applications of abuse.
In a regular diurnal, my dignity is decomposing.
Despair is the song of my wretched soul.
I can not stop crying.
copyright Labyrinth of Life
Copyright © Mary E.W. Stephenson | Year Posted 2016
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