What do I do now,
Father?
The die’s been cast
the game now bought
and the red numbers
higher than ever,
while I, here,
have no hands-on
in controlling the flow
of money.
Blank, hard, cold
cash.
It hurts the lack
thereof,
but hurts more than
I even want it
at all.
There is no salvation
in money.
That is the law
everyone
can agree with.
Even if I turn away,
even if I had off
the worry to someone else
it remains,
that I have been
a foolish steward,
scrambling at straws
to survive the crack
in my brain.
I got desperate,
but I now find worse,
when the fear
of destitution,
of foolish choices
comes to lick my spine,
my neck,
my ears,
unwanted and unincluded.
The point of the game
was to help me.
Save me from
my self-destruction
with distractions of
exploration
and fighting evil
head on,
because in the darkness
anxiety and depression have
no face,
and lurks
within your heart.
So, Father,
what should I do?
What can I do?
I know naught what to say.
I want to support the man
who supports me
and he believes this spending
is for the greater good,
I felt too bad
to try and stop him.
I felt at a loss
and anxious.
I don’t want this
anymore.
I’m tired.
So tired.
Laying in the darkness
and cool earth
at the bottom of the pit.
Let no one see
my weakness,
my foolishness,
and justify the calamity
soon to come.
Just let me stay here
graveyard deep,
and wake me up
when it is over.
Author T.S. Lowe 