Moon Willows Tantrums

It Can't

I am stuck

I am lost

I am in this-this fog

that burns, but, will never

seem to end because it

enjoys this.   

Doing this,

hurting me, burning me

scaring me, haunt me, torture me.

but not kill me.

No, this is my Voldemort.

No, this fog wants to do this to me,

to continue to do this because

it brings it joy.

Coward.

It is a coward. For it only hurts me, burns me, scars me, haunts me, tortures me when I close my eyes.

Everytime.

It wraps around me and squeezes me,

a harsh hug indeed, but, never with good intentions.

It staples images of my fears and of my past on my eyelids with cold, rusty, sharp staples

and no matter how many tears fall, they will forever be in vain

Wasted salty droplets of hopes, dreams, and wishes for it to just stop.

Silly me.

Silly tears, silly hope, silly wishes, silly dreams.

It will never stop.

It can't.