Remember the sunset.
This line walks through my head.
A prayer?
A plea?
Damn, you make things so hard.
Hard to move,
Hard to see,
Everything just hard.
I’ve lost feeling,
intermittent joy,
my poetry is lifeless,
no great written epiphanies.
I sit
in a great dark room,
indian style,
hands in my lap.
Visitors don’t come and go,
food does not slide under the door,
just me and the silence,
the sunset painted on the walls.
An Everyday Girl's Outlet 