My Own Brand of Misery

Flexed and tense I stand in the small bathroom of our house
Glaring at the mirror with a permanent snarl on my face
Side-to-side, up and down from scar to scar, I admire and approve each one
Self-inflicted trophies that turn my snarl to a low growl
I am just an angry young man, who happens to be getting older
Naked Anger, no lying to myself, I know whom I hate
And that makes, me stronger, pushes me past the tearful break downs
The tears are always hot, scalding down from my angry eyes

The present will fades to certain memories and attached are every emotion
Fear, hate, fear, loneliness, fear, neglect, fear, hate…oh yeah FEAR
Slowly I turn around to face the wall, exposing my scourged back
I cannot see them, but the scars hurt and hurt deep
I feel such pain but I CAN’T SEE IT…Argh!!!
Spinning angrily around I smash the Mirror hard with my naked fist
I take a jaded piece and commence to be a prophet of Baal
The door opens gently and my wife walks in, she gasps in awe
Taken aback by my mutilated fist and filleted face, “My God what are you doing…?”
“I have to equal the pain, can’t let them hurt me more, the most,” I Scream
She frowns, “your back in clear and smooth, nothing more than adolescence.”
WHAT! The only scars that are visible are the ones that I created
I have become the god of my own demise, double wounds require double healing
I was matching mark for mark not realizing that someday I would have to heal
Placing down the bloody piece of mirror I cried with scalding tears
My bloodied body laid quivering and squirming on the cold tile floor
My wife held me!
This is a memory that will push me past my miseries
I cried till the tears ran cold