Suffer Me

Hiding he is, waiting for his moment to strike
His nighttime shadows creep earlier into these days
Permeating my skin, polluting my soul
Feeding on these elongated periods of loneliness
Haunting me, tormenting me
Until this darkness drives me to places I’ve never been before
Ravaged until the break of dawn offers the briefest of respites 
Hope has eluded me for far too long
The begging and pleading has long ago stopped

Suffer me.  Strike me.  He takes me to his depths
Rape me. Torture me. He fills me with despair
Suffer me.  Strike me.  He drags me to hell
Left with nothing but a fear that causes each breath to rattle

Waiting he is, laughing, mimicking my fear, mocking my resistance 
Prayers to God having long since ceased
Replaced by closed eyes and memories of a life that was
His grappling claws of desolation cripple all lines of defense
Somberness ultimately decays this soul
Hopelessness floods every last inch of me that is real
Tears try unsuccessfully to wash out all of this pain until sleep is all that remains

Suffer me.  Strike me.  He takes me to his depths
Rape me. Torture me. He fills me with despair
Suffer me.  Strike me.  He drags me to hell
Left with nothing but a fear that causes each breath to rattle

Surrendering to him each and every night, 
Succumbing at will to his all-encompassing might 
Emptiness permanently builds a home inside what was once me
In this flesh breeds a monster unseen 
Thoughts of hate and hurt and death and acceptance that had never felt right
Turn to thoughts of hate and hurt and death and acceptance that have never felt so right

Like so many of my poems, I believe and hope that people can interpret different meanings. I enjoy hearing what people think each poem is about and then telling them my motivation or its story. This poem is actually about season depression. It's about succumbing to that period in the year where everything seems to fall apart. It's about waking up feeling poorly, but knowing that is incomparable to how miserable you will be during the day and how you just want to give up on life when you finally return home each night.

As we get older, we develop resources we hadn't had at earlier points in our life. Does that make this period easier, or does it make it that much worse knowing that exactly when it's coming, knowing exactly how you will feel, and knowing exactly how hard you'll need to work to survive this period?

Written in 2005

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser