Processed Poem by Daniel I Brown

More bad news today…
Nothing more to say,
Nothing more to do but look for a clue…
How to cure such a sickness?
That’s buried so deep…
One that rots inside you,
And makes you feel weak,
Like your stomach is burning,
And your throats on the brink,
Of collapsing inside you,
Till you can’t even think…
And the warm thing that crawls,
Up the back of your spine,
And wraps itself round you,
Till you don’t feel alive…
Such a horrible sickness,
Such a crippling disease,
All the thinking and thinking,
That builds up in me…
How is this what should happen?
How does this come to turn?
Why should it feel,
Like my mind has been burned? …
By these people,
These places,
These decisions,
And lies,
These endeavors seem so clever,
But they all go awry,
And we can’t understand,
How we got to this place…
A mistake that we take,
Cause we couldn’t hold face,
And look out at what’s coming,
And face all our fears,
Decide what we need,
And look at life clear,
Through a glass that’s half full,
Instead of burdening my mind,
With a half empty cup,
That’s wasting my time…
Why should I stay here?
When can I leave?
And discover the secrets
You’re keeping from me…