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...