Poetic Melancholia

The lies hit hard
arrows, pounding through my skull.
I welcome the darkness
as my thoughts turn to their pull.
Recognizing what comes at me,
the power to stop it is gone.
His working, gnarled hands, encompassing,
I see grabbing hold of what I cling
most dear: a ransom
for my life, my mind, and my soul.
"Surrender," the word drips
with malice, spilled-blood, and hate.
He twists my very desires and trips
my motivation and drive.
The battering worsens,
I am bruised,
forgotten,
but alive.
Left to fight another fight
oh, give me
one
more
round.