BLEEDING

It was, by any means,

Far from the deepest of dreams.

There were no complexities,

No patterns, no layers.

It was quite threadbare -

Not at all a nightmare of sorts.

It did not leave me

Thinking sickening thoughts,

But I was bleeding

And no-one helped me.

There was a recurrent motif -

A familiar hoax from a false past

That could never ever exist:

Inadequate weeks before exams

And I was unprepared,

With so many school texts

Requiring reading.

But there was a new twist:

I was bleeding

And no-one helped me.

The rest of the class

Seemed happy,

Chatting in another language

That I barely understood.

For them, it was all good.

They could see me,

But my ailment’s birth

Was of neither interest nor worth;

Yet I was bleeding

And no-one helped me.

I woke to dark solitude’s night,

Which spelled no fear for me.

It is the bleary eyes of daylight,

In these eerie times,

That frighten me most of all.

Then I wondered in rhymes:

What had induced my delusion?

Perhaps, in some way, somehow,

I was bleeding

And no-one helped me.