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Mar 22
Dishes piled high, but higher still is the laundry that sits just where it will
I cannot fathom the thought of leaving my bed
I cannot fathom moving until I am dead
“She’s crazy” he says to my children each day
She could if she wants …
Will her depression away
I scream inside the top of my head
Wishing and hoping he would finally drop dead
His cancer has taken over all our lives
His “excuse to excuse” the abuse he would hide
You can hide it no longer
It’s not in my head
You want to label me crazy and have me strapped to a bed
It’s not me he argues to all who will hear
It’s not me, “she’s crazy”
Yet he beats me still
Your pills are not working
Your therapy is moot
Check yourself into Cuckoo Land
Try and stay in the loop
I’ll strip all of you down
Crazy piece after piece
Until you have nothing
Left to cry on your knees
“I’m not crazy!!!”, I scream
But you won’t go away
You’re put here to torture me to the end of my days
Your cancer is slow and my heart cannot beat
I’d rather be dead then to become your repeat
Ours sons sound like you
Their words trigger me too
I can’t will them away
Like I still will away you
You demon
You dark one
You false ******* Jew
Place that gun in my hand
Then walk away too
The gun is so heavy
So cold
Yet so light
The chamber at my face
Eyes closed with deep spite
Your triggers are what I’ve lived with so long
Triggering the most hurtful emotions
The most painful of wrongs
Is this cold steel finally the last I must endure?
As it fits my finger perfectly,
Yes ... I am finally sure
Written by
Ann Terrin  Nahant, MA
(Nahant, MA)   
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