I want to howl
for the pain,
strip down to all fours,
bristle and fang,
yowl like the dying
for at least
there’s an end
to that.
I want to tear
skin and flesh
built over the years
the cover the original
me.
The me who danced
in summer rain,
napped beneath
swamp coolers,
and hiked through waterfalls.
I want to be
the touch of joy
on the wall of home
so I can breath
and want for food
again.
I want to be
free.
When will my brain
be broken enough
that I can snuff the light
and sleep
for the night?
When will I
finally see,
what my being observes
and knows?
When can I finally
just be?
Author T.S. Lowe 