bombarded from all sides
inside, outside, on the line
I stuck my head in there
and it gets sliced through like a lemon peel
the knife only grazes me, not sharp enough
to cut off the entire head as I’m not Elizabethan Queen
now I’m writhing in spasms
like some Black Mamba that constantly
dares to spit malicious venom
who’s going to be under attack?
it’s always me
as if the immune system was attacking its own body
without a shield to protect me from the worst outcome
‘help me! help me!’ I shout
leaving only small sharp shards of pity
when no one wants to be
next to me
as if everyone wanted to put me in a cage
and observe
always inappropriate reaction
to the scrutinised lack of mercy
there is no right response to this
only regret
that they
don’t know much
even with me around
serving them everything on a plate
too bad
they already have one full
---
Thank you for reading!
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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Mescaline Brisset on my Vocal profile. The art of creation never ends.
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...
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Comments (3)
I feel this one deeply, Mescaline, on both sides of the knife & venom. Not knowing how to reach out & help, having a plate that's too full, completely missing those times when someone needs me, mistaking those times when somebody doesn't..., having no one who seems to know how to reach out to me (or at least feeling that way), all the while constantly feeling drained & bombarded. I don't know if this is what you've intended, but thank you for writing this. Whether the way you intended or not, it spoke to me in a profound manner.
Fabulous!!! Loved this inspirational poem!!!❤️❤️💕
Very good