For the longest
time my phobia of bumps
in the night incited
dreams larger in
scale than
city-
wide riots,
spineless attempts on
my life behind bullet
proof doors minus
their handles;
paint job in shambles with
a preamble to the
inevitable, exposed angle
that seals me
within the
annals of
history
with a blistering exit.
Before long, I was
conscious,
grabbing my chest, honest to
God, lost in
thought just trying
to find my breath.
Rationalizing until logic failed
to satisfy me.
For all
I knew,
I had just
experienced the first
in a series of
violent premonitions,
no fail-safe Hollywood trope
will prevent.
The scope of my
death exceeding the
recommended dose my
twenty-six inch television
can cope with.
Expecting blood
on the pillows,
I checked the
floor beside
my bed for omens, submitting
to a yawn but no, it’s
just the same old yellow
walls and carpet.
It was just a harmless
dream, stupid, some screws must have
come loose in your
sanity’s stead.
Close your eyes.
You’re only exhausted, a little bit
hungry and sick in
the head.
Only four hours remain before
first light rears its
self-righteous,
shit-eating grin,
driving away the shadows that dance
like the rest aren’t
watching,
and since my
presence hasn’t stopped
them,
the writing’s on the wall,
their insoluble downfall I
can only hope happens
before mine does.
It’s evil incarnate while I’m
simply becoming undone.
Absolute success with me: compact though emotionally detailed, metaphor, reality feeling ratio perfect, imagination completely opened, been there felt all, grand end!
Missed anything?
Oh, thanks for the treat!
Your descriptions are really good. Tremendous emotion in this piece!
Thank you
“but no, it’s
just the same old yellow
walls and carpet.”
Is this an allusion to “The Yellow Wallpaper”?!
Fuck. This is so amazing.
I feel like a handshake (the kind with a tap on the shoulder) is in order.
No allusion
Just playing around with words. And thank you, your insights are always super appreciated!
No, THANK YOU! I seriously actually am an active member on this site because every morning I wonder if you’ve posted a new poem.
I am trying to post at least one new poem a day, sometimes I run out of time because there’s a toddler trying to climb tables, falling down and screaming. It’s a challenge just to hear myself think
But I am glad you are an active member and always look forward to your comments.
You’ve captured that moment, long endless moment, where you don’t know what is dream and what is reality. And are these apparitions of a real resonating evil? Unfortunately I think they are. But they do go away. And what feels like forever will be over. Containing them in writing very good idea! You don’t have to allow evil to win the day.uh, oh borderline ‘preaching.’ Sorry.