Perfunctory. What better word is there to describe how things are done around here?

There is no point in putting in any effort when it’s obvious that the criticism is near.

Her piercing, angry, intermittent rages have become inevitable.

It’s hard to remember a single moment where, in this world, comfort was available.

And like a bad dream,

I’m calling out but no one hears me scream.

 

The days have faded into a phantasmagoria of the same tedious routine.

Insults, screaming, and very few good memories in between.

Seemingly imperturbable, I stand, looking strong.

But deep down inside everything feels so terribly wrong.

And like a bad dream,

I’m calling out but no one hears me scream.

 

In a dark cloud where nothing is discernible, I search for paradise.

It’s obvious we see through a broken paradigm.

I forever daze through the oblong windows of this prison cell.

I wait for the day when you no longer have the ability to make me feel unwell.

And like a bad dream,

I’m calling out but you don’t hear me scream.

 

I’m on a search for that place of refuge.

A place where I will no longer be Christmas, and you are no longer Scrooge.

Is being cumbersome your escape from a more true emotion?

You’re fierce, you’re a wave, raging quickly at me from the ocean.

And like a bad dream,

I’m calling out but you don’t hear me scream.

 

My entire world drowns in an abyss of nothingness.

My thoughts are scrambled into a perpetual mess.

And like a bad dream,

I’m calling out but you don’t hear me scream.

 

Well, I’m tired of screaming.

I’m ready to find my life a new meaning.

I’d rather rescue myself.

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Samantha Henry

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