Low
My mind is a mess
So I get out my broom
And try to rid dust
From my mind, my room.
The air is so thick
It's too hard to inhale.
I check my mirror -
My GOD I'm so pale.
Does anyone notice?
Can anyone see
This shell of a body
That used to be me?
Or am I invisible
As I think I may be?
No one pays attention
To this worn out old me.
My mind swims in oceans,
My brain washed ashore
Only to find itself
Living no more.
The tide is my heart
Beating for strength
As chills run down
My entire length.
Can I get up?
I don't think I can.
But if I could have,
I would have ran
As far away
As my feet could go
So I'd not feel
This horrible low.
� Kathee Tschudy, October 27, 1998
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