Creative Writing on Chronic Illness Pain Management Series

What we started

Written amidst a late-night fog of depression off the back of days of pain, in this poem, I talk about the 'interior din' many of us carry in the silence of the night.

What we started, you and I,
Could never be controlled.
For a deluded rare moment,
the reigns were mine alone to hold.

But as pain dug in its claws,
Dark clouds began to form.
They roll in unsighted,
Just needing the subtlest thought to be born.

Negative ideas multiply
Like the brain cells in which they’re created.
Why can a happy thought turn sour
But rarely more elated?

What we started, you and I,
Could never be controlled.
Pain turns to mental torment,
and I’m left helpless as it unfolds.

Very few will understand
The battle that rages within.
Crying alone at midnight,
As the house sleeps silently despite my interior din.

I have too many passengers on my bus,
They shout, I cannot cope.
I write down these words to control them
As they pick, they tug, they grope.

What we started, you and I,
Could never be controlled.
The pain and the depression,
Together, more than anyone can withhold.

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