They Said She Was Insane

They finally named her yesterday.
They said she was insane.
Psychotically addicted to the pain.
Endearingly enchanted, like the songs
that play themselves within her head.
But then, like an electric charge,
the whispers start to shout in her again.
Shorted out. Electrically defunct.
A fox that lay too still after the hunt.
Such glory in the chasing of a runt.
Always underrated. Swiftly spayed
and turned away. Those were the
ugly games they always played.
Pressured to a peak, the weak began
a weary fall. Voices call, like charms
beneath the ground. Ghostly figures
haunt the night, in dreams that never
seem to come out right. She once
believed that love would save her.
And so she sought and caught it
by its tale of make-believe.
Like stardust, it kept dissipating
in a morning light that said goodbye
to all the brightness of release.
Passion spent, the creditors were
knocking down the door. At such
a point, the loving doesn't matter
anymore. The doctors tested every
variation of the strain. The gave her
pills that liquefied her brain.
The short of it was shock. The long
road led her to another briar patch.
She lived through mother's suffering
somehow. The grief of death become
another shadow in the hall. Invisibly,
it clings to her. She knows not how
to find surcease. Remembering
lost days of loving ease. Gone,
the hope of youth that used to dance
within her veins. The pain arrived
and clung in a survivor's rhapsody.
A parasite that entered into paradise
for free. Afraid to move lest yet
another villain turned his radar
to another spending spree.
They finally named her yesterday.
They say she is insane. The price
of rebirth falling with the rain.

Artistic bliss that looked too long
into the awesome mirror.
Innocence that fled into the dark.
A spark of light. An ember glared.
Then slid much deeper than
a mind could bear. Swearing at
the morning traffic reaching
out of sight. Dark clouds turning
sunrise back to night. The gloom
is suffocating all the freedom they
once lived. There's nothing left
to give, the cupboard's bare.
The numbers they once played with
sank below the zero balance
that they spent. Out of work,
disabled by their growing discontent.
Enflamed, the loving brought them
to their knees. They sit and watch
the villains gather riches and they seek -
to simply make it through another night.
While spite abducts their memories.
The downhill run is falling faster.
They peer into the cracks of plaster.
The younger generation doesn't care.
The nursing homes are filled to bursting.
The baby-boomers parents are all dead.
While the love songs of the eighties
keep repeating in their heads.
Flower children reaching for the grave.
The petals drying, dying in their stead.
Fanatically enhanced by secret dread.
Clinging to an other, thinking two
could never feel the swelling loneliness
within a single bed.

They finally named her yesterday.
They said she was insane.
Welcome to the world of their blame...

? Michaelette ?

10/16/2004
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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