Through my eyes

At present time there is no cure, nor fix, for my condition
an independent ailing mind invoking frightening vision
robbing me of needed sleep, effecting heart's attrition
while avalanche of mix-matched thoughts bury intuition

I'm in a struggle to hang on, while readying to die
and with each breath I do grow weak, become as fragile child
I hurt, I cry, I stomp my feet, then snort into my high
and for a few surreal secs, I don't have to try

Yet all it takes is one small glimpse into a broken mirror
to see the lost soul trapped within and shed a grieving tear
for me I will not ever see your eyes not filled with fear
and my ill brain is all I have and all I'll ever hear

                                                                                  Joanna Ryan