Stone of despair

 

There are days, endless nights,

weeks when it rains, continuously.

Where my body feels wracked in pain,

my brain doesn't work, and my work

seems like I'm just pouring my

thoughts down the drain, along

with any unfulfilled dreams.

 

I'm like a boat on an ocean,

lost at sea. The stars hiding away,

the sun and moon no longer rise

to guide, I'm just floating, as the long

darkness stretches out before me.

 

It's an effort to stop the screams

pushing themselves from my lungs,

knowing that once they hit dead air

they will just drop.

Flat.

A stone of despair

at my aching feet.

 

It gets too much, no human touch,

no contact. Alone with my thoughts.

 

And everything I touch just turns to dust,

no Midas luck in my fingers,

just a ghost of a hand holding mine.

One I know should be there,

but is faded, evaporated into the air.

 

I try to force words,

to make my pieces sing,

I pour my art into everything,

until I'm an empty vessel,

just carrying dead weight

as it crushes my chest.

Sometimes it stings me to the core,

I see my work overlooked,

on a shelf gathering dust.

My heart untouched, barely

so much as glanced towards.

 

But then I remember,

I've been here many times before.

The storm before the calm.

Rumbles of discontent, a moment

to lament, and a restless head

thrashing on a pillow of dread.

 

But it always passes. In time

I see the world again in rainbow

glasses. The colour, the magic,

and the love I have inside is still

oceans wide. But I know I'll hit

land eventually, so I let those

waters calm my stormy mind.