Slipping, 12/17/2015, Deon Mumple
Is there a rope I can hang on to?
Is there any way to coat it with glue?
I’m slipping back down some darkened hole,
If I could choose there’d be a different goal,
And my weak-willed soul
Would be stronger.
Can you tell me why my arms feel like lead
And my head feels like it’s completely dead?
“Well, not completely yet, I’m ok,”
I lie to myself almost every day,
Whenever I say
I think I can.
I know where this goes, I don’t want this thing,
Is it any better than feeling nothing?
I stew, quiet, past sad, in a funk of rage,
While people poke at me, in my cage,
And I try to gauge
What I should do.
Where will I end up after I’ve fell?
Because this time I’d rather it not be hell.
Can it be gentler than it was last time,
Or can there be an elevator to climb,
If I somehow find
If it’s true “misery loves company,”
Why do I wish no one were here with me,
In empathic love, if love can be real,
Desperate to escape in a Devil’s deal,
Feeling like I feel
All here, alone.