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contorted by silence

pummelled and spent

he writhes against

the beast

unseen and unheard

surrounded by thorns

he bleeds away

all hope

 

Art: Francis Bacon

 

SOMETHING IS PRESSING ON MY MIND

SOMETHING IS WRIGGLING TO THE FRONT

SOMETHING WILL NOT JUST LET ME BE

IT WILL NOT NOT TILL I DIE

SOMETHING IS EATING ME INSIDE

SOMETHING I CAN AND WON’T WITHHOLD

I AM MY OWN WORST CANNIBAL

WITH NO HOPE LEFT NO HOPE AT ALL

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Art: Francis Bacon, Self Portrait

 

I have a job. I have had it for a while, but now it has become full time. It starts first thing in the morning, and carries on late into the night. I have not asked about remuneration. I am afraid to. It would validate it. The job is demanding and does not leave much space for doubt. Although doubt is at its very root. This is one of the tasks of the job. Fight the doubt. From the early hours of the morning to the fading light of dusk, I work. It seems these days that I am employed non-stop, and with no hope of a vacation. Frankly, the job I have leaves no room for free time. It is all consuming, eternally demanding, and with no recompense of any kind. Oh, forgive me, there is a small bonus. It is called: I survived the day, but it comes with no accolades or rewards. It just means that the job continues, that I am not out of work. As long as I show up.

My job? Working every day not to kill myself.

So far, I have been successful. Maybe I’ll be promoted.

 

francis-bacon-Study-for-Self-Portrait-1984

ART: Francis Bacon, Study for Self-Portrait, 1984