Some may view me as mechanically sound, for I smile quite naturally and talk with a lilting, confident tone. My words are humorous, relaxed, and 'well', they don’t know what’s hiding inside, the astringent sadness, she overwhelms. Internally, I feel stretched, as though a punishing thin layer has been made out of me, a conglomeration of bones, tendons, sinew enters the picture, a rolled flat image from my pieces, made from my core, I am thin, thin, thin; you can almost see through me. I am not ticking timepieces and cogs well oiled, I am bits of paper-thin skin and bone attended to with the most callous of ease, the beings who made me into this sheet of paper-thin madness, is the prior mentioned Mistress of Sadness, and her partner, Despicable Depression. These two are entwined with the same cruel feelings, they feed off one another, take victims cold and easily, they mean harm, I promise, when I explain, when I say, that Mistress and Despicable aim at pulverising, they’ve already done me, haven’t they? I have been made into a sheet of nothingness, my structure broken and melted and flattened, I do not know how I’m meant to feel or be or understand, that my existence is but a sham, I wear that smile, I wear this wellness, so people won’t misunderstand. The thinness is a curse. I am truly damned. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by PIRO4D from Pixabay
YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry
