Compression

There are different degrees of sadness

And I’m just describing mine,

But I can’t help but think I should just stop.

 

Realizing the flash and cold shudder

That sucks my body dry

Is too compressed

And my distress is

Just another self-indulgence.

I stack it face first

Among other read plights,

Like a world traveler through text,

And I just can’t keep a vigil

For what I called up to be

Misery.

 

I think I’ll never sleep soundly

While my mind is still awake.

 

Armless children, shredded bodies,

I see someone who doesn’t know horror

And I’m too busy to use reason.

Tagging blame to the human condition

And saying, “these are the way of things,”

Are worn diversions

And I’m not sure if that’s enough

To carry me anymore.