My Bed is Too Tired: "The Listener"

"The Listener"
24x36 Oil on Canvas

My bed is too tired    
and my pillow is dry
My blankets are cold
and my light is weak
My face is too wet
and I cannot sleep
my stomach is broken
that's where pain weeps
Bruises, too many                                  
inside out
and I scarcely speak
if I could I'd shout
no words to say
the puzzle's not mine
I can't fix this one
there is no time
I'm by myself
and I don't mind
It's warmer here
in cold sublime
The Listener talks
and I can see
she smiles now
here with me
In red cloak
and golden rings
hands folded
softly sing
Sleep, dear one
time will pass
and hurt will end
return again
to seasons new
here or there
Life or beyond
without despair
No Vincent!
I will not give up!
Damn you
for leaving.
Stood us all up,
Then used once gone
for a story
that never ends
and grows of your
despicable end.
Shall I go?
No, not today.
 My pillow is too dry
and my blankets need me.
Tomorrow is another try
willing even
 if I must cry.
and this is strength,
 I'm told.
to crumble to hold
to one more hope
in nothing but
breath, and
the desire to
see what's next.

   (Written earlier, this was composed mid-meltdown. I didn't completely lose my words this time. They came a few at a time, simplistic, and I hope not too confusing. I'm better now. I usually write when I'm at my best, but I think sometimes it may be good for others to see that I fall apart sometimes. My painting comforts me. It is like my, "spirit" to me, as if I'm reaching to that part of me that is always ok., and knows feelings pass, and peace returns. Thanks for reading.)

tina jones