The nerves are gone.
It's a phrase familiar but never applied to me.
She's at her wits end.
The image strikes of a worn - torn - woman
Frazzled hair and arms out of sockets
- the tear of demand
- the air of long gone reprimand.
How has it become my reflection?
Two tortured shadows.
Muscle power that has been splintered, cracked.
No breakthrough, no expression.
Excuse me, please?
My nerves and wit -
Well they seem to have escaped me.
Can you join me in the search?
Can you help me understand?
When did time pick up its legs and run?
My nerves, my wit, well yes of course
My very self, you can be sure
I'm afraid
They have long gone and betrayed me.
The eyes - they haunt the carved out hollow.
A strange relief to know the evidence lies in front.
Excuse me, sir?
Have you seen what the last few months have done to me?