She now refers to it as ‘The Scramble’
Five long, hard years stuck and lodged
between Grief and Depression
(They even taste differently)
Each passing day another dragging whiplash,
in slow motion, against the back
of your broken, shipwrecked soul.
There is no 999 call available for that emergency,
no rescue team a-coming,
it’s down to you and you alone in the end,
to get yourself up and on out of there.
But, that’s easier said than done,
when you’re having trouble
even crawling to the bathroom.
A slight shift occurred unexpectedly one day,
a break in the monotony of suffering.
The Sun peeked momentarily around
the DARK CLOUD she was nailed under.
Wearing fingers to the bone,
frothing at the mouth
and fighting every millimetre of the way,
she scrambled away from that Pit Of Gloom…
to gasp like a newly banked fish
within the dizzying fresh air of the New Day
which she now refused to let escape her.
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