One Day

I live in a world of nested extremes

With little tolerance for the space in between.

It's not something I'd say I recommend

It's just the way my mind tends to bed.

At night I lay in bed longing to dream

The kind of dreams that fade when you wake,

But instead I am haunted by the ones that take hold

When you're not asleep - the kind you can't shake.

I lay wide awake trying to figure it out;

How do I make the words I write count?

What must I do to get people to notice?

Or is being unheard my entire prognosis?

In the darkness the wheels of my mind start to turn

And the friction from their speed begins to burn.

Up in my brain's rafters awake the ghosts

Who will never release me from their grips.

They echo the words of those I trusted most.

I panic as the seam of my sanity rips.

And when I don't know what to say, do, think, or feel,

When all I know is that the world needs to heal

The only way to stop the endless spinning of the wheels

is to remind myself the stories I tell myself aren't real.

I inhale and exhale as I search for the truth,

Challenging the ghosts and demanding proof.

But standing toe to toe with those menacing foes,

My resolve begins to fade - away it goes.

I wonder: is it them or me that don't exist?

But one day I'll reach this dream, I insist.

"One day," I say, but even as the words come out

I know it's a promise that's born into doubt.