I hate the night and it's untimely creations. The avalanche of loose words doused on closed eyes, begging to be assembled into flowing images or melodic alliterated sentences. Adjectives lurk under sealed eyelids. Verbs implore the body to respond. Mocking my stillness they urge limbs to act out in their name. Verses arrange and rearrange of their own accord. They ebb and flow. I'm too tired to grab them all. Why now, when I crave nothing but sleep? Why can't I conjure this brainstorm in waking hours. I grab a pen to write; semi-conscious. It all jumbles into nonsense. The dream state draws me back to act out unconscious intentions. I hate the night and all its promises; Its lyrical musings behind twitching eyelids.
I woke up one morning having written the bones of this poem during a really disturbed and unsatisfying nights sleep!
All these knives in my back They don't even hurt anymore I mean, I'm sore And it's intense But it doesn't make any sense I must be at war With myself Tearing apart the insides of my brain Have I gone insane? Why do I Keep letting these things Happen to me? Is there a sign taped to my back Saying "Torture ME"? "Take Advantage Of ME"? "Love Me And Leave ME"? What's wrong with me? All this backstabbing Take this pen And drag the ink into my spine Use the blood drops as a tattoo design The scars from all the knives Will just make it look more divine Maybe some Angel wings With a sash torn apart and "Nobody Loves ME" Written across the heart Might as well throw it all away Throw it all out the door I'm sore But all these knives in my back Don't even hurt anymore
Awake in nothing Hands shaking Eyes darting Heavy breathing Not your own Blind darkness The ringing In your ears The scratching The knocks The voices Driving you To insanity You run They laugh
What to do?
*You awake In your room To look over To see that they caught you.