The darkness is familiar, even comforting.
A sort of insight, a consciousness
free from the blinding glare of pretense,
unobstructed by the masks of deception.
Embraced, as an athlete welcomes pain,
eventually becoming numb to it,
until stinging tears come pouring down
like spring rain after a long winter,
drowning as the flood waters rise.
But perhaps the only way out is through
hospital hallways, with the other tired souls,
where the light has a different quality,
too dark and too bright, a dimness of apprehension.
And maybe light is held in
cocktails of mind-numbing pills,
or nauseating electricity, just enough
lucidity to understand that you are alone.
Though it all seems elusive
to she whose mind is plagued by absurdity,
wondering if it is easier to see in the dark,
wondering if that which has become visible
can ever be unseen.