there’s no one here
just me
and my head
split
in too varied options
pinned to my existence
I try to centre each of them
find a purpose, fit in
when a race against time
tryin’ to rip
the life out of me
where the Grim Reaper fights the Greatest Foe
strikin’ the hour with its claws
rippin’ my insides, diggin’ in my soul
in every harrowed hour of my disturbed dream
“to hell with it, get off me!”
I scream
there’s no one there
to save me from this monstrosity enslavin’ me
like a prisoner in his cell
"is he still there? alive?" I’m wonderin’
I left him there a while ago
and I still don’t know
what’s goin’ on
with this narcissistic withdrawal of information
almost as if someone
threw me right in the middle
and forgot to tell the basics
needed for survival
will I ever be free again?
***
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About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...
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More stories from Moon Desert and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Dart at Dusk
Seconds ago, the sullen sun set on the two of us… my exuberant furry companion and me. A fresh breeze embraces us, delivering welcome relief from the day’s oppressive heat. His typical stumbling and staggering along — apace with a sloth — has turned into trip-trapping, high-stepping, almost skipping along.
By Angie the Archivist 📚🪶7 days ago in Petlife
Comments (3)
Now I'm really worried. You're beginning to sound like me. (Yes, I frequently resonate strongly with the things you write, not so much because the world has been cruel to me, but because I tend to be.)
I love 'this narcissistic withdrawal of information'. Thank you for this!
Melancholy!!! Left some love!!!