Soft days welcome me
Deep, deep in the snow of my mind
Entrenched, trapped: helpless.
Promises of freedom whisper to me
‘It gets better’.
Lost in oblivion, decay
The corpse of my emotions skeletal
No day of the dead can resurrect me
But this voice is persistent:
‘It gets better’.
Rocking, rolling, head banging
In the suicide prevention unit
Midlife crises on steroids – wtf happened to me?!
Yet still this irrational voice:
‘It gets better’.
Ten years, fifteen years, hell: twenty fucking years later:
And finally: I surrender:
‘This is my life now, staring me in the face: so be I’ll fucking in it’.
‘BRING IT. MF. BRING IT!’
‘Ah, but now: it gets better’.
In Love,
Alchemy xx
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