What happens when the light gets blown out? When an 8"x11" document shows up in the mailbox having the power to minimize custody? I know that when it comes, part of you dies. Life becomes bleak; fifty percent less humane. You have to shade disappointment from loved ones in a cloak of rot. The new lens that accompanies this shattered dream you knew as life, has the power to help see the cliched glass as half-full, -but full of what?
Though not purposefully chained to it, the drug disappointment is force-fed until it creates addicts of us. This over-abundance of failed case after case after case knows our name, where we live, and how to hurt withoug visible scar or bloodshed or any evidence of its whereabouts whatsoever. It is; in fact, so subtle that no-one can see the depression creeping into our hearts, "sugaring over like syrup sweet" until it is tar-black and pumping toxic thoughts and fear through our systems.
When lies are accepted as truth, and fear is mistaken for guilt, the truly guilty party goes free and with the table's winnings. But nobody looked at his hand. Both bullshit and bloody, the truly culpable goes galloping into the red sunset, and tells you and everyone else that the red was the sunlight. He insists it was an illusion; imagined, ignited, and false. The court is so tangled at this stage and provoked by my intrusion on the beautiful view he had painted, that it scolds the face that holds her breath in fear for trying to prevent such lovely red tones, mistaking her breathlessness (-held; of course, because she knows his hand so well) for guilt.
And so the bevel came down; off with my head and out with my heart. It was captured in ink, both type-set and print. It was damning in ink, their mind-set succinct. I lost so much, and my name is muddied. No longer seen as fair, I damned fairness down the basement stairs, screaming rampant through my empty house. I was damned. I was drained. I questioned righteousness and no longer believed in much of anything, least of all myself. Disappointment, like a drug, takes over so quickly. And I so want to get off it's needle-tipped ink. I so want to feel clean; feel whole, have my kids.