They may try

to hurt me

with

their words . . .

–

–

–

.

.

. 

b

u

t 

–

–

–

my voices 

torture more

than anything said

or done before . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

i

s

.

the 

saddest 

note,

.

o

f

.

the

saddest 

verse,

.

o

f

.

the 

saddest 

song,

–

–

ever

heard . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

filling

.

m

y

.

soul . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

filling

.

m

y

.

void . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

filling

.

m

y

.

eternity . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

the

.

m

o

s

t

.

heavy,

–

–

haunting,

–

–

resounding

–

–

sound

.

.

o

f

.

.

all . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

along

.

w

i

t

h

.

everything

.

I

.

might

. 

h

a

v

e

.

been . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ along

.

w

i

t

h

.

everything

.

I

.

might

. 

h

a

v

e

.

been . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

.

i

s

.

the

dance

.

o

f

.

the

dying . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

dying

.

o

f

.

dreams . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

dying

.

o

f

.

hope . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

dying

.

o

f

.

each,

.

a

n

d

.

all,

.

a

n

d

.

everything

.

.

I

.

.

might

.

h

a

v

e

.

known . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

the

fires

.

o

f

.

foreplay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

courting

.

o

f

.

cocaine . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ the

taunting

.

o

f

.

Tanqueray . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

a

n

d

–

–

–

the

touch,

.

.

a

n

d

.

. 

the

tease,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

the

taste

.

o

f

. 

ANYTHING

.

w

h

i

c

h

. 

might

–

–

take

.

i

t

.

.

all

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

It

makes

.

y

o

u

.

play . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

w

i

t

h

–

–

–

the

fires

.

o

f

.

foreplay . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

until

.

i

t

.

!BURNS!

!!BURNS!!

!!!BURNS!!!

–

–

everything 

.

i

n

.

life

away . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ until

.

y

o

u

.

finally

–

– 

awake

.

a

n

d

.

proclaim:

“I am going 

to make it 

!MY WAY!”

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

“I will love

myself 

!ANYWAY!”

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ yes,

.

i

t

.

!BURNS!

!!BURNS!!

!!!BURNS!!!

–

–

–

.

.

.

until

.

y

o

u

.

awake

.

a

n

d

.

proclaim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

 ~ until

.

y

o

u

.

awake

.

a

n

d

.

proclaim . . .

–

–

–

.

.

.

o

r

–

–

– 

simply

lie

.

i

n

.

wait,

.

.

a

n

d

.

.

then

.

j

u

s

t

.

die

.

t

h

a

t

.

way.

Reflection: This was a forgotten personal struggle-themed poem that I wrote back in May of 2018 where the affected party regularly attacks himself/herself with his/her own internal negative voices. These internal negative voices pale in comparison to anything external going on in his/her life. The unforgiving, self-destructive habit not only creates a life of misery but also leads him/her to pursue external remedies – external remedies which conspire to make things worse. And we get the feeling that the internal – external negative cycle will continue until the affected party either finds a way to break out of the negative cycle or pays the ultimate price. This is one of the few poems I have written that was inspired by a play. I had gone to the Orlando Fringe Festival back in 2018, and saw the play called “Awake,” and the poem largely wrote itself from that.