Posted in of the soul, poetry

Unwell

03/04/2019

they say she’s crazy
they say she’s mad
“stay away from that lady”
they say she’s bad

she sees things no one else does,
hears strange voices;
louder than a hush


her very eyes give shape to fear
her soul- naked…
in caskets of her tears


she keeps seeing corpses
wandering in streets
lurking… lurking… haunting deep


“take your medicine” urged his father
“don’t let this pain devour you;
no more no further”


“no”– she refuses…
gritted teeth and clenched fists,
“no, papa” she refuses…

“Cause if I get better-
If I get better…
I’ll miss you.”

You see…
she… is not crazy
she… is not mad
she’s just a loving lady
and she… isn’t bad

“She’s just…
unwell.”

featured image: https://pin.it/6ur2qgsn2myekb


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Author:

Hi! I'm Rose. I fancy myself a poet sometimes... But really, I'm just a dreamer- a wonder wanderer. Words are my photo albums.

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