A Prose Poem
There is a bizarrely familiar and anesthetizing comfort lurking deep inside the sadness and discomfort of a wounded soul; that begs the heart to surrender to its paralyzing grip. The life-piercing pick of maddening malevolence, strums the broken strings of a tattered heart as consciousness begins to evanesce and slip.
If one ventures too far down this dismal and dreary cavern of quiet madness, the mind proceeds to spiral listlessly into the never-ending well of selfish sorrow. Without a lifeline to escape the horror of today and promises of an even darker tomorrow.
Wallowing for what seems an eternity amid the hollow abyss of misery and melancholy. To close your eyes and fall back into the darkness would surely be to folly.
One must remain conscious not to succumb to this morose inner discourse of bewilderment and mind-numbing pain. Lest you lose your wits eternally and become perpetually insane.
Tarry not too long in the darkness and never submit to the tempestuous desire to wander alone through the overbearing fog of haunting disenchantment and shame. Where the only way to busy the brain is by dredging up fractured memories and endlessly swimming in a toxic pool of blame.
A lost love will not be returned through grasping at ghosts and tugging on phantom moments with an unrelenting hand. Pining over a broken heart can become a crippling addiction far more binding and fatal than any drug known to man.
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Originally published on Medium.com