You understand, I know, this deep dis-ease
we suffer. It surges through our comfort
in surprise attacks, shattering our peace,
confusing us with rash, blaring retorts
from our devils’ battalion: You’re
not good
enough! You’ll never amount…You’ll
fuck it
up! You’re better than…If they
understood
you’re above them! You must
suffer! Suck it
up! I see you lying alone at
night,
hearing what I hear. I want to study
your eyes, free them of our soul’s lonely fright
through soft, honest words, touch of a steady
hand. Send prayers for help. Listen for replies
to calm us, tell us demons’ screams are lies.
Roger Armbrust
August 8,
2013
