Sensations Of My Darkness

Hush now, can you not sense them?

They’re everywhere round me tonight,

Pressing against me,

Flitting away, unseen but felt,

Real and not imagined.

I know these specters well,

I understand it’s my darkness spawning these horrid feelings.

My own darkness nurturing them,

Helping them grow strong,

Strong enough to break my spirit.

It’s far too easy to embrace these sensations as I struggle,

Easy for sensations of my darkness to seek out and find me,

Then wrap tendrils of doubt around my brain.

It’s easy for them to court me with lucid visions of maligned truth which they use to remind me,

I am failing now,

And I will fail at anything I attempt to do in my life.

Sensations of my darkness will chip away at my strength,

Weaken my resolve to carry on.

If I let them they will crush me,

Overwhelm me with feelings of hopelessness and despair.

If I allow it further I will have no choice but to believe their continuous whispers,

Those vile proclamations of how bad a writer I truly am,

Those clever methods intended to warp my thoughts,

By providing proof I’m not making progress,

Revealing how I first take two steps forward,

Then always three steps back.

It’s their desire these demonstrations of my pitiable failures become my reality,

And they conspire to have me believe how painful my future shall always be.

But as before when they’ve come they have offered me a better way,

A peaceful existence where constant torment does not exist.

But first I must quit they tell me,

For the anguish will continue unless I quit now.

It’s easy they say,

Just stop writing and walk away.

It can happen they say,

It will happen they promise,

But first I must quit.

First I must lay my pen down,

And put away all my silly notions my work is good enough.

Sensations of my darkness tell me they know better,

That they understand what I need better than I do.

They know my breaking point,

The very moment of beleaguered exasperation,

When I feel so much a failure,

The moment I teeter on the brink of throwing it all away and quitting.

That is when they come,

Because they know me as they’ve known a million others just like me,

They’ve been around longer than I,

And they urge me to put the pen down,

End the struggle,

Put the pen down.

Save myself,

Just put the pen down.

But I shall not,

For if this is how it will be for the rest of my life,

If sensations of my darkness will always be with me,

Then I shall find some way to tolerate them.

It is better I try,

To continue along this tortured path,

Than stop and let sensations of my darkness present to me results of a decision I made in weakness, a moment of cowardice.

It is better to endure this suffering,

Than endure a life time of self recrimination and bitterness for making the choice to quit.

It is better to combat sensations of my darkness with hope,

That I will do better,

Hope, that I will write a piece the world wishes to read,

Hope, not sensations of my darkness,

must speak to me of my future.

With hope, I shall endure,

With hope I will continue,

With hope I will write.

Let’s keep in touch:

A published author enjoying married Texas bliss. Dog person living with cats. A writer of Henry James' stories. Featured In MuckRack. Top Writer In Fiction.

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