I offer myself the look of self pity,

knowing full well I am the cause of my own disease,

that I am the one who pushes relentlessly

until beaten to a pulp and crying mercy upon my knees.

Well fuck you insolence,

you never were my favourite gravy train

and save me from my own compassionate sense

for if I should go out screaming, it’s because I’m still sane.

I am gripped in the acid hold of life

for deep in the middle of the four a.m. shadow

and the wish for earlier relief,

I find in my darkness the imagery of poker played life,

the remedy to my nightmares in stow,

the constancy of self hatred shrouded in belief.

Ian D. Hall 2015