No I don’t want to go
Can’t you see it in my eyes?
Too late, the fear has grabbed me backwards,
Rocking my senses,
Encroaching in my mind.
I feel the endless pit in my stomach,
Taste the blood in my mouth,
Physically true and real happenings,
Results of the symptoms of fear.
The only illusion is the dark before me,
And the voices whispering false truths,
Confirming I should be afraid.
To freeze would mean an endless limbo
Of excruciating pain,
Fighting no option, as I would just be punching shadows.
Flight seems to warmly pierce my thoughts.
I stand alone in body and mind, facing travesty all around,
Frozen in an hellish silence with all hope lost.
Then without warning my shoulders are seized.
Not by claws or talons, more like enlarged fingers attached to strong muscle,
Like an exaggerated humans foot,
Only softer and warm to touch.
A Firm grip lifts me from the cold slab from which I’m perched.
I don’t see the face of my saviour
Only the sound of a force flapping against gravity.
A white feather escapes its host and floats down before me,
Signalling peace and freedom.
I know now I’m being carried to safety,
By my guardian who saw it worthwhile to intervene.
As a passenger soaring upwards towards the light,
I look down to the abyss from which I came.
It still whispers and reaches at its prey,
Seething as it’s fodder takes flight,
Escaping their clutches of seduction.
Something I can only describe as demon makes one last attempt to pull me down to the underbelly of life,
Where confusion and guilt is rife.
It fails, my winged guardian drives up full force,
Sensing the threat of danger from below,
Knowing a desperate monster has no boundaries or honour, to a soul they’ve lost and failed to pollute.
I almost allow myself a smile as I fly away…
And then I awake.
Lied in bed lethargic and mentally exhausted,
Pondering whether this vision was a dream or reality.
I decide not to answer,
Questions of doubt lead to darkness, and I’ve only just escaped.
For now I will sleep, listening to my heartbeat,
And counting my breaths.
As my eyes shut in peace,
The vision of a feather is the last thing I see,
Gently floating in and out of consciousness.
Spiralling out of control towards armless hands of bones. Flexing finger tips grab to bore at my flesh.
A sunken fever brings false saviours. Hope built and collapsed in flashes of imagery, used to pollute the faith.
Out of nowhere I am caught. Is this reality or another method of torture? Part of the punishment of this realm. No this dream’s real, I am touched by substance wiping my brow, mowing away levels of uncertainty.
I am higher now, feeling cooler above the clouds. A burnt smell furrows my nostrils. Panic sets in as I scour my surroundings. It’s not me but my protector whose caught by the flames. Wings are singed, though the descent upwards doesn’t waver.
The climax wakes me cold. As my mind blinks to work through reality, a figure in front of me bows, and evaporates from existence. There was no expression, but this essence produced no fear. Now i know blind faith is real, as Angels have no face, just a presence of hope.
Sleeping on half a sofa
Trying to ignore the stink
Shutting out the noise
Of her throwing up in the sink,
That was last night
I came to help my mum
I’m scared now that she’ll die
she’s only sixty one,
A victim of a craving
A drunk slave all these years
And when she shows remorse
There’s vodka in her tears,
I fear it’s nearly the end
All alone, she will be found
And when she’s laid to rest
Alcohol shall pollute the ground.
The first draft of reflective imagery that invades my mind.
Point the forks upwards, forcing the inside temptation to scream and surrender under the guilty burden, invisible shadows climbing on my back. The weight shrugs as a reminder not to proceed with the idea of liberation and freedom. It’s part of the torture, the false hope we feed on for survival is desired of course, but only left for balance, for sanity to stay before Hell is reached. Turning downward facing obscene flames which spit obscenities, hurting the soul and spouting the stench of foulness like a spike billowing the winds of heart strings.
Prying eyes look on as a devils intent. Look is a stab, a stab cutting the Flesh and swallowing entrails of red and gold. Flashes of yellow signals the explosion of the soul collapsing inward, shades of grey elope and revel in the mix of light. In my head a giant, but not necessary a tyrant, though the horns and hanging flesh give away past intentions, and deviance outgoings. Will his look spill towards me, igniting the hunger in the eyes. Or maybe I’ll be spared, increasing fear and anxiety of the soul. Part of the torment. Being flippant with lives. Being a false remorse, leering at me, the prey, the gift.
Spinning discs pass my neck with a flys width. Razors designated to maime and cause surrender. My face blanches, filling the bottle before it’s spilt…
Hunger for the days
Appearing in waves of emotions
As tears is to the eyes.
No need to plead for absolution
Forgiveness earned through torturous hours
Spent crying and weeping,
Bruising knees in surrender and attempts
Born again as the stars align for the annual celebration
The lights always seem closer
Almost within reach to play and dance
To spin in the palm of hands
Watch in wonder as it shines and flies free.
Night transforming from foe,
Dark an ally, no longer a friend of fear.
Trust in the situation to which you sleep
Lighten the head that rests to the pillow
For it is yours now.
Control relinquished from the mouth that wretches the soul
Gravitating your will towards a deep cavern
Who swallows and devours.
It no longer swells inside you
lying dormant though holds no threat.
Part of you feels attached to the entity
Empathising the sadness of its defeat
But aware of its dogginess
To return and abandon its slumber, hungry.
Don’t be afraid
The self-made demon can’t touch you no more
Time now to live with a certainty to choose
And a freedom of celebration.
Never had a lot of range,
From behaving odd to very strange,
Pained expression for all to see,
Just hearing the call of the Banshee,
Endless whispering of far away prattle,
Leading up to a head blown death rattle.
Being alone hasn’t eluded,
Map of destruction points to secluded,
Best friends a dark reflection,
Shadow cut out to add to collection,
A demeaning job, a binned life,
Baggaged husband, shouldered wife.
Friends of history a quiet distant,
Personal contact set on resistant,
Winding slope, an inclining bend,
Kill me as I can’t seem to end,
Persevered efforts, too many to mention,
Seeking truths now I have your attention.