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Sunday Chenoweth Poem
BETRAYER of worlds, EVIL mongrel, you
REEK of the poison which delivers one
Final BLOW to my buzzing brain.
Alone, I shall survive, as I always do.
Hell hath no FURY like the sweet revenge
I shall set upon you.
I will not lie or wander in this
Purgatory any longer, questioning and
Writhing in PAIN.
Gaslight me again and I shall set you
AFLAME.
Not a threat, not a threat, but a
Promise.
Copyright © Sunday Chenoweth | Year Posted 2023
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Sunday Chenoweth Poem
The Doctor asks me how I feel and I reply
“Better than ever, better than ever!”
My brain says, “Insanity has lost its appeal
And I don’t want to be CRAZY forever.”
Moonlight peeking through the window that
Is locked to prevent us from jumping, while
Pain, regret, and pure agony are all over my
Body and Thumping.
There’s a man to my left wearing the blue
Scrubs which are the tell-tale hint of the
Psych Ward,
And I cannot even put into words how many
Times I have prayed to the Lord.
“Help me, please, to take away what ails me
And keeps me awake and so restless in the night.
When I seized the nurses called it a tantrum and
I didn’t even put up a fight.
“I’m ready to leave!” I have shouted, then they
Say to stay calm in this prison.
The anguish in being ignored is alike to the
PAIN of an open incision.
These wounds will close, but they will never fully
HEAL; I will never forget the trauma that caused
Them or the
Horrific way they feel.
I am screaming on the inside, crying out for
Help from ANYONE. I’m begging for this
Punishment to end; I just want it to be done.
Have I not suffered enough here?
It feels as if it’s been years!
It’s all come true, all at once, every single
Thing I’ve feared.
At that moment I realized that I am alone, with no one in this skewed world defending me. So I’ll gather up the last of my
Strength and pray for Serenity.
Copyright © Sunday Chenoweth | Year Posted 2023
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Sunday Chenoweth Poem
I cut.
I cut into my flesh to see the blood pool into
Droplets, to feel the sensation of being ALIVE,
Instead of the incessant dream-like feeling I
Always seem to possess throughout the
Duration of my day-to-day.
I cut.
I wipe the blood around in circles with my
Fingertips in order to prove to myself that I
Am, in fact, REAL, present, mortal.
I dig deep with a kitchen knife, I slice
Haphazardly, unconsciously searching,
Praying, even, for that feeling, that
Knowledge that I am a being; a human
Being, capable of dying, capable of emitting
This red, sticky substance which oozes from
My arms, my legs.
I don’t care anymore if it’s seen, if it’s known
That I need this confirmation.
I cut.
I breathe in fresh air every time I slice flesh
And I feel, I feel, I feel.
I live, I am a person, I am here on earth,
On this corrupt planet of suffering;
I am a body carrying a heart which will
One day stop beating.
And I don’t want it to stop, and yet…
I do. So many times, I do.
But the constant remains, let me live
And suffer, and above all, LOVE.
I can withstand the pain if such
Pain is worth undergoing.
Stop.
I cut to bring myself back to reality,
To remind myself to breathe.
Oxygen fills my lungs when the blood
Comes into view and then, right there,
I know that I exist.
Copyright © Sunday Chenoweth | Year Posted 2023
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Details |
Sunday Chenoweth Poem
The Shriek of the banshee will find you
Like the shark finds its prey in the sea.
Staring at my reflection, I realize the tortured,
Screaming banshee is ME.
Could you ever Love me?
Love this shell of a human I am?
Or will I be doomed to
Wander in this middle ground and
Be eternally damned?
With a touch of your hand I can know
You; I can see what is causing your
Pain.
It’s a talent my gypsy blood provides
But not long after such touch I am
Drained.
My energy I reserve for those who are
Worth my time.
I will harness my power, read your aura,
Your ailments, and look deep inside your
Mind.
I will tell you your fortune if you desire,
I see death so much in everyone now.
I’ll do what I can to warn you of doom
If God and the Universe allow.
Copyright © Sunday Chenoweth | Year Posted 2023
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