At Times When the Weight of the World

at times when the weight of the world becomes unbearable

my body mimics a punching bag, unable to find equilibrium

every punch pulls me closer to unconsciousness

and fear digs a grave that doubt forces me into

eventually, there comes a point where I no longer fight back, instead,

cope with the numbness, attempt to play dead;

either through the incapacity to struggle, or belief I would rather endure the torture than prolong
the battle

but managing does not win
and time outs do not occur in real life

and when do punching bags lead to body bags?

and how long until playing dead becomes dying?

life embodies a game, a gamble

and I should have known I can lose

a lack of draws, solely rivalry,

not playing, but merely surviving

losses result in pain,

and winning appears
unfamiliar

Life at times exists as a game in which I no longer desire to play

In all attempts I stop abiding:
If my illness surrounds me
traps me
shackles me
like a cage,
a snare
does that make me an animal?

I sleep and I sleep and I sleep
until I grow tired or sleeping
because resting does not quench my body’s weariness
I think I just need a time out
Despite the lack of energy and present dissociation
Or that I long to no longer belong
this game continues on with or without me

but then I reminisce;
if life encompasses uncertainty
why forfeit now?

-Jaida Donnerstag, 2017
(ed. EDM, M. Denvir)