Spare me the clichés, I pray.
The games we play just to make it through the day.
It’ll get easier,
They say,
And I agree,
In a way,
Because there’s a point,
Between each day,
Where consciousness drifts away.
You’re not alone,
They console,
And I agree,
On the whole,
Because somewhere, hidden
Within this all-consuming hole,
Lurk the demons under whom I am of control.
You’re strong,
They insist,
And I agree,
Doubts amidst,
Because despite the clichés,
With which they persist,
The urge to punch them is one I am able to resist.
(2015)
Whilst no offence is intended to the good intentioned individuals who try to console, one can only take so many years of clichéd condolences before bitter mockery ensues.
