The Misery Atlas Poem by Shalyn Stachmus

As I mold into the miscreant of myself,
I frame self-portraits in my esoteric hell.
Seems no one seems to care, but oh well.

As I turn into a torpid, tepid pool,
I choke my mind with Oblivion, so cruel.
Seems no one seems to care, that's the rule.

It's okay. It happens. All the time, every day.
Numbing into nothing, I gape at the pretty parade.
I'm okay. Just blackened, losing little lives along the way.
Numbing into knowing, I wince at judgements unweighed.

As I drown, I hear a sound,
I flee phantom fools of those whose dread abounds.
Seems someone seems to care, but not right now.

As I seep into the sordid soul of wood,
I freeze my heart shut, as everyone should.
Seems no one seems to care, but who would?

It's alright. It happens. All the time, every day.
Numbing into nothing, I dance into the sacred charade.
I'm alright. Just saddened, losing little lives along the way.
Numbing into knowing, I fall under as my debts are repaid.

(Original: 6-1-11/Revised: 8-6-12)