Poem -
UNWASHED CUPS
My cupboardÂ
is full Â
of festering rotting things
the fridge
full of curdling
​​​​festeringÂ
rot
the floor is dirty
and the windows cracked
and the air around
is cold and rank
the table is coated
in a powdery mould
where
long legged spiders
leave tracks
my face is dirty
and my hair unwashed
my clothes
all
marked
with
life
sunlightÂ
refuses now
to glance
this way
as I sit
where I sit
and I sit
where I stay
and I sometimes
think
that I must
get up
but the thought
gets forgotten
like the unwashed cups
and I know deep inside
that I must
​​​​​GET UP
arise and wash
all those dirty cups
butÂ
I can'tÂ
seem
to care
enough
to care.
Marion Price(2020)
Â
Â
Â
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Comments
My Dear Marion,
If this was a joke, I would call it one of the "dirtiest" I'd ever heard. Â
But, it is no laughing matter.
Her will is now gone
Her self respect has vanished
Each day drudgery
All my love,
Larry xxx
Yes...again, one of the terrible effects of grief and mental health, complete apathy. Sitting silently in the fallout of a life that no longer has any meaning...thankyou ?