Poem: Paper-Thin – 02/07/20

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 

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