The Shadow Dance

It is the little death
that worms through the decay
of your living skin,
the nail in your coffin,
the ghost of your haggered reflection

It is all the days you cling to hope
struggle and search for truth
through the blur of reality
that becomes the norm
as you grow into acceptance

It is where you befriend the dark,
converse with the faceless voice
of raw madness that cuts the feeling out

And leaves the scabbed over wounds
you continue to pick open
and still can never dig deep enough
down into the hole of despair
to pull yourself out
of its festering infection

And yet all means of healing
seem only superficial, a temporary fix
sacrificing one thing to cure another
and so on and on......

A medicated dose of nunb is the answer
not much different than the cold turkey denial
either way you are left with questions,
either way the diagnosis is bleak

the condition terminal......

9/30/09 Copyright Debbie Berk