The pain
The drain
of my simple brain.
The older me
Would whither in shame
But now
and Here
I do not care.

I wonder back
At the decision made
To enter this obtuse
and Hellish cave

As here and now
I sit and type
My eyes wander
To the suffering site
As ink is spilled
In vain as she
attempts to explain
The economic vein.

I catch hold of me
Of my will
Of my sighs.

And promise next time
To run
And Hide