Apathy

January 97

Found in this enmity is fear,
not a particle of the whole
but the product from whence it came.
Are you surprised?
I can render to you the story of abuse
caught in its tender hands of fate,
stars catching me all unaware
until I bowed to the inevitable.
It was but a matter of time,
and now I find my time has elapsed.
You catch me here,
amazed at the illness festering inside
this brilliant intellect
that -- seemingly -- is whole and pure.
You cannot see the distance I've gone.
You cannot know how healthy I am,
lest you know from whence I came,
but you cannot know.
This illness you call harmful,
it is but a shadow of the cancer
that once ate me alive,
yet you claim it is fatal.
Must you condemn me for it, then?
You judge this creature that I am
based on information that you have collected
in your frail existance,
telling you that dysfunction
is incurable and fatal.
Must that be so?
Ah, then I am lost again,
and I know not why.
The only thing that touches me now
is apathy.
Sweet apathy,
with its calming serenity,
its numb caress that kills all pain,
come wrap me in your embrace.