Friday, October 25, 2013

PTSD Nightmares



Madness knows me well 
& calls to me by name at night, 
When black velvet encroaches upon 
the lily white of me & rakes 
spindle-thorn fingers through 
my tangled hair - 
   matted with sweat from thrashing in my sleep, 

The salted drops of fear trace
lines through the remainder of my 
clown paint & soak the cotton 
pink of my night clothes
that cling to my skeleton, 

I am covered in the filth of memories - 
the ones that caused me to be 
this devastatingly sick inside, 

They have rammed their fists into my 
rib-bones with every flashback that is
played, facinorously, in my dreams - 
warping them with malevolent heat & 
melting my nerves to nothing more than 
a shrill scream resonating in the dark,

I would escape this fear 
if I could, 
But there is nothing that can 
save me from the repugnant 
stench of my own inner torment
as it burrows beneath my veins 
and drips from my skin-holes 
at night, 

For that is the worst and truest fear - 
the kind from which you cannot escape... 



8 comments:

  1. an in depth look at something not everyone has knowledge of... great post...

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  2. Wow that was horrifying and so true. That felt personal - Well done.

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  3. inner torments..........vividly expressed

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  4. inner torments - worst and truest fear... and I agree that we cannot escape from them.. hauntingly beautiful.

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  5. the 'filth of memories' is a very powerful line..terrifying and yet unflinching in the way it is written..

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  6. A poem written from the inside out - so vividly real and painful. Well done.

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  7. So personal & honest ... and hopefully cathartic. Writing & sharing is healing. Smiles :)

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  8. This is visceral and honest. Your imagery is compelling, refusing to loose its grip on the reader. A very good write.

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