Work Text:
Was his mind like a loose wheel,
turning and turning and turning
scraping against itself
wedging itself out of place?
Or was it like an all-consuming fire,
using his entire being for fuel,
and, even surrounded by an ocean,
impossible to put out?
Was it like looking through a narrow tube,
all earthly joy obscured,
never to be seen by him again
leaving only anguish in the dark?
Was it like dancing to an invisible rhythm,
hands twitching and ivory leg tapping,
along lines that no normal brain pursues,
illuminated in the diseased light?
Was it like a lonely sea-ship,
battered and tossed by the deep
but still, against all odds, continuing on
to the doom of all reason?
I sit, bereft and reeling
and I write and write and write
I try to name the doom
that wasn’t satisfied with just him
I sit, alone
and I try to chart the terrible depths of his mind
to name the horror that claimed him, and claimed my husband, and almost claimed me
but no metaphor will ever be enough