Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose

Tag: anguish

  • Poem: Paper-Thin – 02/07/20

    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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  • Poem: Marry Him – 28/01/20

    Poem: Marry Him – 28/01/20

    Will I ever find a place,
a home to rest my weary fingers and shuttered eyes,
my fingertips so tired from tap-tapping
emulsifying my emotions,
please don’t pry,
please, don’t.
 
I am so ragged,
wretched be my soul these past days, 
and I ache for somewhere to rest and be content,
paper smeared with pains of yesterdays.
 
I am tired, bone-tired, my muscles ache too, and the
inked crimson cavalries chant
Reign over thee, Reign over thee
they’ll take my energies most willingly.
 
I try not to let past events
get to me, 
to enter my dried-out soul that will ignite
with the slightest of sparks,
 
Beyond the moon is where my eyes are cast,
hoping to avoid inevitable decimation that seems
far too close
and far too soon.
 
When the firebomb hits,
set off by my innocent little soul’s notepaper,
I will dive with the rest of them
for cover and safety,
 
but my wordsmiths and bards,
where else we be if we didn’t already bear
ourselves wholly?
 
The paper in my soul takes on shades of aggressive red,
now blackness, the depth of my plaintive despair.
Some corners though, are hopeful blue,
and mangrove yellow in certain parts to be viewed.

This is but a fork in the road,
I will marry him, marry him,
marry who?
I have wedded the quill,
he is kind and reassuring,
and he doesn’t talk back,
he’s perpetually with me,
marry me, marry me,
I once begged,
we will make a life of our own,
he colours me all over, you see.     

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
All images signed “LMH”
are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock
and all rights reserved.

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