(Note: I realize there is a famous poem by Rimbaud of the same name {A Season In Hell}; as he was and is beloved to me, I will only say I mean no plagiarism by borrowing his title and this certainly bears no resemblance to his epic creation.)
my heart burns in anguish in this pain that is all the life i know.
hope like a stranger never returns anymore. he has left my
heart the way he found it. torn, bloody, undecipherable.
i am not a person. i am a kinetic mass of torture.
sentient, feeling every lash fresh upon my back
it wraps around and catches the masticated pulp of my heart
and rips out the remains.
Here i live as a dead man, feigning life.
I am truly dead.
Am I sabachthani? what was it i did to
have to take this constantly? what is the use of
remaining, to be used as a pawn
in the hand of terror.
my bottle of promise sits, smiling and beckoning.
"I will eliminate your troubles; I will set you free."
That's all i want. you have all i want.
freedom from hatred, pain, anger, but mostly - fear.
fear- the child of the devil who has chased me since dawn.
locks me into every corner, sneering.
bottle of promise, release me, my friend, release me
into the hope, peace and love i have never known.
- larock 03/22/91
