For me,
the action of putting my feet up does not induce deep breaths and sighs of relief.
In reality,
I feel more burdened when I have nothing to do.
Busyness,
it keeps my brain idle.
For the stresses of study and work are effective at keeping the all-consuming underworld at bay.
However,
when one relaxes,
the gates open and the demons down below begin their upward climb.
The ladder is long,
so I usually feel at ease for the first few days of break.
But,
once they reach three quarters of the way up, I can begin to sense their ascent,
for it's at this time that the fae-like creatures that guard my soul make their descent;
it's hard to ignore such emotional turbulence.
I call to the fae,
pleading with them to stay,
but they never do.
Protectors of my aura?
It seems highly unlikely due to how quickly they disappear when they hear guilt and despair ascending up the rungs.
I feel like I ought to fire them,
for if I only get to rest and recover in such small doses,
then I'd prefer to just replace the demonic ladder with an escalator and rid myself of the three day delusion of happiness.
Unfortunately though,
these things are out of my control.
So,
I sit on the couch,
legs up,
tears rolling.
Nothing demands my attention and the time of ignorant bliss has run its course;
the demons are here.
One by one they climb out of the manhole.
They get out their measuring tapes and carefully plan out how much damage they can do to my conscious awareness in one and a half months.
The fae watch from afar but I still feel their presence.
I know that they're still there,
somewhere,
for I feel at ease with the chaos in my head.
They've lowered my resistance,
reduced my fear;
I know that there's no other way.
So I put my feet up and let the demons rip out my toenails.
They place them into their mouths and bite down;
the nails reek of infection and the demons love it.
Once all of the nails have been consumed,
the demons leave.
I watch as the blood drips down my feet;
I do not bandage them up for I am tired, so I just stare.
I know that the toenails will grow back healthier,
but this process will be slow.
I'm sick of waiting.
Now that the demons have left,
the fae come out of hiding.
They sit on my legs and stare at the wounds on my feet, wincing as they share my pain.
I make eye contact with one of them,
a little blue-winged faerie perched upon my knee.
She takes a deep breath and sighs,
so I do too.
The demons have inflicted pain,
yet enforced rest.
To remove the infection,
I had to first bleed.
Maybe the fae know more than I give them credit for.
YOU ARE READING
Introspection: Poems by a Ruminator
PoetryWhen hardship is experienced, it is only human of us to think on the past. Sometimes though, we end up in a cycle of rumination, reliving events that cannot be changed; we become depressed in our memories. Writing can be therapeutic, so here is a co...
