Malcontent

a poem about chronic pain (inside and out)

Photo by Rafay Ansari on Unsplash

Sometimes, I think, if I just lay still enough,
quiet , motionless ,
the pain won’t find me
where I sleep.
Well ,
external pain (of course).
Inside, I’ll forever be an empty echo
clanking about a steel hall.
I’ll always feel it rushing out,
redacted,
like a breath,
lost in a vacuum.
Depression is a wiry, black hound
that caught my scent
long ago.
I am hers. She is mine…