A poem written by Michael J. Rietscha

The Tortured Soul

All I can see is a sea of black.
A cloak of darkness surrounds me now.
It engulfs my entire head, my mind, my heart, my soul.

All that there is now is emptiness
and a dark, dark mist that surrounds my thoughts.

I can not see or hear anything.
The silence is deafening.

Now comes the flood of thoughts.
The torture now begins yet again.
Louder and louder the voices come now.

My ears ring and my head pounds with the voices from the past,
'You are not smart enough.
You are too stupid.
Who do you think you are?
You are not strong.?'

I can not see anything yet I can feel the walls caving in.
I can not breathe.
My heart is pounding; it is just about to explode. I wish it would.
I wish I would take my last breath.

But instead I still live.

Now I am starting to see.
The sun is covered with the dark clouds.
The trees are naked.
The flowers wilted and barely, just barely, alive.
The planets are sad and just turn away from me.
The moon frowns and has a single tear trickling ever so slowly down
her sad, sad face.

The fairies and elves dance in the forest that has no light.
They dance not for joy, not for spite,
but they dance for the prospect of death.
The eternal rest in hope for peace.

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© 2016 Mental Health Association of Northwestern PA