MHI: TORN: A STORY OF OPPOSITE DISTRACTION by Jude S. Walko

Trigger Warning: This piece addresses mental health

The HWA is pleased to launch its Mental Health Initiative, a coordinated roll-out of events, resources, and activities intended to promote positive mental health, foster the concept of hope, and challenge the stigma of mental illness in the horror genre. The initiative, run by the organization’s Wellness Committee, launches in June, and includes the following blog posts from Of Horror and Hope, a downloadable anthology of poems, flash fiction, and personal reflections on mental health by HWA members.

TORN: A STORY OF OPPOSITE DISTRACTION
Jude S. Walko

His hand brushed across her sun-kissed hair,
burning her cheeks to rouge from fair.
She smiled, from within, letting his warmth encompass her.
as emotions, deep inside, began their best to stir.

The walls were grey. Her toes cold. The floors cracked.
Dog-eared books, syringes and stained pillows were stacked.
Were these memories, moments or thoughts of the past,
barely remembered and not meant to last?

But the sun pierced through her eyes, ever so blue,
reigniting her passion, as if it were new.
Nothing, it seemed, could depress the love deep down inside,
’cause now she was up on this particular tide.

But the lows came fast, and they were deep, dark and sullen.
Sometimes she forgot just how far she had fallen.
Usually at night, did these specters arrive.
She often wondered how she’d remained alive.

But the dawn of the new day was moments away,
If only she could maintain and on the course stay.
“Love conquers All!”, or so it’d been said,
but first she had to convince the voice in her head.

Deeper it came with its hideous claw,
like a weight on her chest, but burning and raw.
The more she thought of its powerful pull,
the less, she felt, her heart would ever be full.

She sits back in the darkness remembering his touch.
And the thought, no the fact, that they loved each other so much.
But the mind is a powerful, multifaceted tool;
It yearns, it beckons, but can also make you its fool.

Alone now she cries, broken inside.
But an ember of her soul still longs to survive.
And with each passing night, alone in the dark,
She patiently waits for the Sun’s morning spark.