Speakers blare, expressing my ravaged thoughts as I
fail to stop and observe those surrounding me.
My decibels ail those in proximity,
near and far, their pain is surfacing.
While I, an obnoxious lass in my second decade
smile and smile
at the effect I now realise I am having.
Finally, they, you, them, are all forced to listen,
I cannot turn back the clock to decade two from three,
for some things, truly, I am sorry.
I up the ante and progress to screams –
will you not hear me?
cannot you understand me?
I am here, before your eyes,
begging to be seen and needed.
The clock ticks –
a cuckoo sings, heralding one hospital admission
and the microphone drops
an echoing boom,
there exists permeating silence within this room.
Quietly dragged away,
by a member of a crisis team,
to be loaded with medications
there goes the development of my skills,
my synapses will be
blotted dulled scrambled
no longer freely firing.
My talents all but drained from me,
isn’t it such irony
that they catch you while you’re endlessly flying?
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.
Image by whoalice-moore from Pixabay
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