Too often have those shocking, fatalistic images haunted me;
too often have I been forced to confront the unimaginable;
emotions flung aside while practicality rode out each storm.
Now, the thoughts of those could-have-beens and might-still-bes
twist and turn on themselves,
bending my mind like a cognisant Möbius strip.
The painful uncertainty of several years
coalesces in fleeting ups, and devastating downs,
prevents the sleep that might heal my brain,
and causes me to second-guess what is real.
Is this some hellish descent into madness—
or am I sane, because I remain self-aware?
I write these words in pencil,
too horrified by the thought of their permanence
to seal their fate
(and, in an uncharacteristically superstitious twist, yours)
by solidifying them in ink.
This is very good.
So well written. This is one of you best. and I remember the pencil writing years, so unsure what to keep and what to change.
It’s good to see and read you here.
Powerfully penned, Ellie. Into the book it belongs! This is an amazing write, thanks so much for sharing. Appreciate you.
Damian
I would have been terrible with the ink and quill. I probably edit everything 5 times (maybe more) and then post and edit more. Nice touch with the
Mobius strip! Haven’t that in awhile! What ifs are horrible? I have deep regrets both of what I have and haven’t done. Doing stuff tomorrow is just…bullshit. Excuses. Excellent piece.
I love that closing stanza, I’ve often thought something similar, solidifying those feelings in ink can be haunting.
Great work.