This wretched illness, grief en masse,
Has wedged apart a deep crevasse,
Of sorrow, anger, guilt and shame,
Encased inside this swathe of pain.
This wretched life, I sabotage,
Is shrouded by a dark mirage,
Engulfed by storms that plague my soul,
I fall into an empty hole.
This wretched night, I just want out,
I cannot breathe, I cannot shout,
This rage that boils within my throat,
Is aggravating every note.
This wretched noise, inside my head,
Has opened all the wounds I’ve bled,
I want to scream, I want to cry,
There’s part of me that wants to die.
This wretched feeling in my heart,
Has ripped my very soul apart,
The panic that consumes my mind,
Has found a vicious axe to grind.
This wretched voice, that won’t shut up,
Echoes inside it’s empty cup,
The rhetoric of sullen verse,
Is simply just my toxic curse.
This wretched prose, that paves the way,
For me to have one final say,
Has left me short of joy to spread,
I’m trapped inside my wretched head.
© The Complicated Bunny – 10 April 2021