Spent - May 3 2021

 

Spent

May 3 2021

Wrung out

exhausted

spent,

my foundation cracked

well dredged

less than nothing left.

It feels like deeper into debt;

and soon

swarthy men

in dark glasses

will be coming to collect.

And in the end

what do I have to show for it?

Just lost hope

and helplessness

and a desperate need for rest,

the fugitive dreams

of sweet hypnotic sleep.

And somehow still believing

I can bootstrap myself back 

to some kind of sanity.

Be at peace with myself.

My sense of meaning

restored.

I've been struggling with a low mood, and find myself repeatedly ruminating on variations of this one thing. I was out for a walk with the dogs, and the word “spent” seemed to fit how tired I was getting of this. I had my phone with me, and dictated into it what flowed from there: in three voice memos, the bones of this poem. Actually, more than the bones – pretty much what you see!

It's somewhat therapeutic to get these feelings down in words. Ventilating, not just by means of expressing or sharing, but in a way that seems similar to the old practice of blood-letting – letting out the bad humours.

I almost always prefer my shorter poems – the shorter and the fewer words, the better! So if for no other reason, and despite its darkness (not to mention despite how suspiciously easy it was to write!), this is a keeper.

I originally wrote it in 2^nd person. But changed to first, which I almost always favour. Because it seems cowardly to hide behind the passive persona of the “you”. And because first person always packs more punch. It's more personal and immediate. It implicates the reader in a different way: instead of asking her to identify with the subject of the poem, it makes her a privileged confidante, listening-in in an intimate one-on-one.