A Cut

By Cliff Lake

 

A Cut

 

There is a cut that is too deep,

Healing is but a laughing matter.

Affecting appetite, affecting sleep,

You cannot break what is already shattered.

 

The workday is hours as long as life,

Nights are cold and long and emptied.

Dreams are reminders of the wielded knife,

Memories of me soiled and tempted.

 

Rotted, torn, and full of promises gone dead,

I am less than I was and thus incomplete.

I am reduced to a past life in my head,

As my heart does little more than merely beat.

 

Get up, go to work, sleep and in between, eat.

Produce nothing, inspire no one,

And not knowing why I keep on my feet.

I can’t get away from myself no matter how fast I run.

 

Where is the end?

What of the bright promises of youth?

What am I doing here?

Where do I go?

Why have I learned nothing?

Why is there no truth?

Why will I get up in the morning?

I just don’t know.

 

But I will.

I swear to God I will.

 

Cliff Lake 4/26/2015

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2015

Location: Dalton, MA, USA

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