The sheets were black <br />perhaps a vivid sign <br />about the state of it, <br />why praise the Lord? <br /> <br />She'd slept the afternoon away <br />and then the night, <br />to rise but briefly in the day <br />to sit and reminisce, <br />inspired by the cold <br />of yet another toilet seat. <br /> <br />They called, those who still cared. <br />All friends had scattered though, <br />since she turned penniless; <br />a pale and haggard skeleton, <br />fine portrait of her anorexic days. <br /> <br />There was a silence now, <br />no clock that ticked, no calls, <br />text messages were out for now, <br />she could not know about the state <br />of one small battery, devoid of life. <br /> <br />And for the first and only time she snored, <br />a rhythm not without appeal <br />to spirits from the other side, <br />and to the silence of a life that hung <br />like spiderwebs from brittle twigs <br />as if deciding to descend and find the end <br />to what had been a mountain of sheer pain. <br /> <br />She had no drugs, they would not sell <br />to one so destitute, there was no charity. <br />And so she slept and all her troubles had <br />escaped through dusty drapes into the night. <br /> <br />The Gods had seen it all and pondered it, <br />her case was somewhat sad, perhaps unique. <br />And thus, they smiled their little smiles and let it be, <br />and she awoke that day and knew she would be free.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-her-lowest/
