A candle is lit,

But light is absent.

Not a flame,

no spark. 


I keep to myself,

Sitting in the dark.

Weak muscles,

Thin veins,

Shards of broken glass,

Nothing seems to last.

I feel numb.

Relentless, black reign--

Knuckles bruised,

Hair ripped, 

I see red.

Steamy negotiations,

Curses to the sky.

Bargaining with God,

Nothing else to try.

An anchor runs deep,

It weighs me down.

Can't reach the surface,

Unsure if I'll drown.

It is what it is,

I bury the years-

Roots ripped from the ground.

This poem is about: 
My family


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