sane, insane

Just a poem I wrote one night :)

She keeps wondering if she's still sane,

if the blood running through her veins is real.

If this blanket of flesh is hers to keep,

will she ever eventually be let go free?

When the air closes in, the panic sets in.

Her entire being is compromised.

She can't move. She can't speak. She can't even swallow,

though inside continues to relentlessly shriek. 

No sunlight shines,

a black manifestation consumes her mind.

At once the flowers blossomed from her roots,

now her bones are rotting, and she too. 

Author's Note

Nothing fancy or professional in any way

Reviews

[Karen Redburn]

I take this as the state of depression or anxiety? These are good words to describe the horrendous feelings those who suffer experience. I always find poems of this nature difficult, but I have been in my circle who suffer and I make it a point of trying to understand. Excellent write.