Survival of an Empath
The voices around her shout their woes.
Her whole house
The walls begin to shake
Melancholy breeze pries its fingertips
Under her bedroom window
Gusts through the keyhole
Whistles tunelessly under the door
Taps with brittle branches at the glass
In a rhyme of chaos
Till Empath is shivering blue,
Choking on pain.
She buries herself under the duvet,
A white pillow over a hanging face,
Wiles away the sunny day in curlicues of shadow
Until the articulation of winter’s frost and drifting mist
Settles on the bleached floorboards
And Empath can rise from her solitary bed
Leave unsteady footprints through tears
Weakened but alive.