If I Hit Low Again

A poem based on “if the owl calls again” 

If I hit a low again In the witching hour

from the dark room where I lay awake all alone,

and I’ve gone so numb I can’t feel the aching cold

tearing at my skin although I know it’s there.

I’ll wait for my happiness

even if it never comes.

I’ll lay there waiting for HIM to meet me,

waiting for the despair HE brings me.

HE will promise to shield me from corruption,

but HE is a liar.

As I taste the blood and the guilt of all the people

that have ever met HIM,

and as I feel myself drifting away from this

awful yet sweet disposition and I whisper a curse under my breath

with my icy tongue

and when the day threatens me with my burning regrets

I’ll leave with my mask intact but cracking slowly

my stomach churns with the sound of my own screams echoing in my skull

as HE leads me to my utter demise.

But I'll follow,

without argument but with much regret

and I'll hit low again as I ponder my respect.