Needless to say, being in "damaged psychological condition" from this weekend's bank onslaught ... I went over the fucking edge. I have tried to not mention suicidal feelings to her since my Aunt killed herself last year ... but, for pity's sake ... DOES SHE HAVE TO KICK ME OVER THE DAMN EDGE OF THE FUCKING ABYSS??? The next poem is more about this than this one is, but this one pretty much sets up "where I was" emotionally when THIS crap hit.
JUST UP FROM THE GRAVE
things grow vague,
perception blurs,
we find ourselves fading
into a dawn
without any reason,
with no need to be,
an empty and sad place
just up from the grave
systems decline,
function decays,
what had been real
flakes and splinters,
pain consumes all;
we ache for sleep
as an escape,
a way to flee
so much damage
imposed by the world,
we can barely stand
to suffer through the day;
we are so broken,
so driven down,
there is nothing left here
which sustains life
every promise
of the mundane
is a snare, a lie,
a trap that's been laid
in hatred and malice
to lure my kind in;
never a pay-off,
never a place
our will is fractured,
we have lost the drive
to believe in tomorrow;
all acts seem pointless
in the face of doom,
all striving useless
in a world which takes away
whatever you might build
- Brendan Tripp
06/18/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
