The Halves of the Decade
The decade was made for this mind to decline. Almost ten years taken, to recover from an existence that is broken. I spent the first dawn in the dark; the sun stuttered by the carving of a bleeding cross drowning it out. If it weren’t for the faces barely there in the shadows, whispering cries and murmuring love, the drops down the arm would have almost snuffed it out. I managed to stumble blindly, still holding the sun hostage, seeking out solace in voices I could barely hear. Halfway through the decade, And the voices convince me To let go of the sun, Just for a bit. I loosen my grip, and then in the penumbra I see something new. Beyond the living nightmares, Something glows. Inviting, warm, safe, a chance. I run for it, clawing and screaming until I found myself somewhere else. The voices followed, distant now, mixed in with the new ones. I let go a little more, shed the light.