Word of Healing

This is an excerpt from my self-published book "In the Library." To provide some background info, Neil, the main character is listening to the story of a character he meets in the mystical Library.

You’ve seen terrible things,

Or heard them vicariously.

 

We all have inside here,

This Library of pain;

Our realities fractured and broken,

We're cursed by our worldviews.

 

Let me tell you this Lover's,

To add to your journey.

 

From nearly unknown origins,

A tiny spark ignites within;

And for days my body locked,

Inside the grip of panic:

Heart threatening secession

By beating out of my chest,

Breath is indecisive,

Between rapid and barely existent,

 

And this pit in my stomach,

Is nearly as void as my soul.

I lay strewn on this bed of mine,

Like a medieval rack of torment.

 

Though I can barely make it

Topside and through the day,

The world still blankets around me,

Smothering with darkened disregard.

 

No medicine or food can cure this,

Although each remedy I’ve tried.

 

Friends and family are all shadows,

If they even care at all.

With midnight approaching relentlessly,

And hope exiting en masse,

I turn to you, my love,

To receive healing from my angel.

 

Every hurt I pour towards you,

How I feel so alone, so scared, so cold!

 

Each word, a fallen poison drop,

Moments seem to go by,

Etching across an infinity.

 

And then I hear you begin,

The voice to bring me comfort:

 

“Okay”

 

Moments more pass me by.

I protest more, to this end:

 

“Okay.”

 

Thus an angel falls into sleep.

I crawl away, pain resumed:

Bleeding frozen, saline droplets,

Desiring only your embrace,

Left horrified by your indifference.

 

But your image I still believe in;

I have no choice but to sustain it:

To embrace an angel’s arms,

In dreams, if not in reality.

For the sake of my fading sanity,

And preserving bound-kept life,

 

For it is all that can keep me

From kicking the chair away.

 

Do you understand it, Neil?

Or least you’re beginning to:

Reality is cruelest when nightmares are real.

 

I held to whatever I needed to

To get through the day, my life.

 

What you choose to believe in,

Is your choice alone to make,

But choose something worthwhile.

 

Does it even matter what I choose?

Who is truly there to help me?

Could I walk out of here now,

Knowing at least some sanity exists?

 

You don't truly see it yet, then:

None exits the Library unscathed.

Comfort is an illusion, Neil;

And healing, what you make of it.

Author's Note

The italicized text is The Lover speaking, while the normal text is Neil, the main character speaking. Note that this is an excerpt from my main book "In the Library." If you like what you see, check out my website at thejameswa.com!