in this,
my darkest hour,
the shadow of doubt
sits as I sleep
staring into my eyes
when I look at
him
and burning
holes in my form
when I find the
courage
to look
away
he is silent,
most times
seemingly satisfied
with encroaching fear
from his very prescience
but at times,
he does speak
he whisper to me
soft truths
which I cannot
deny
but
I refuse
to
accept
these truths
like…
that I’m failing
at the simplest of
tasks
or
that I’m
unable
to control myself
and what
I am
or
that
I am no
longer
someone that
I would
look
up
to
for the most part,
I can ignore these.
going about my days
in bliss and happiness
and sunshine
other times,
I am not so
lucky
when my bed
seems my only
friend
and I flop
down into its
soft sheets
and begin drifting off
into my own
world
I am
suddenly reminded
of his
existence
this is when he doesn’t talk
he just looks at me,
knowing why I am so
desperate to get away
from everyone,
and continues to
look
stop staring!
I say
stop staring!
I say again
stop staring!
stop staring!
stop staring
you *******
freak!
but he doesn’t
I work myself up
arguing with him
rationalizing his motivations
analyzing his strategies
predicting his moves
it just makes the whole
experience hurt worse
until finally:
I grab the lamp,
the bottle, the
plate, the knife,
the book, the child,
the girlfriend, the
family member,
the moral
and
throw it at him
every time
the object shatters
against the wall
and the shadow
is gone
I never see where he goes,
I’m still not sure of his name
or his purpose
in these, my darkest hours,
I can feel his eyes burning
me
he whispers answers
too hard to swallow
and edges me on till
I gallop over the edge
once I jump,
he leaves,
leaving me to wrestle
back to some sort of
sanity
I am not sure why
I am not sure when
I am not sure how
it’s possible in the
first place
but I know he will return
and I will be left to wrestle
with myself when he departs
again
in my bleakest moment,
even sleep haunts me with
dreams of my corpse
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 9:42 AM UTC
in this,
my darkest hour,
the shadow of doubt
sits as I sleep
staring into my eyes
when I look at
him
and burning
holes in my form
when I find the
courage
to look
away
he is silent,
most times
seemingly satisfied
with encroaching fear
from his very prescience
but at times,
he does speak
he whisper to me
soft truths
which I cannot
deny
but
I refuse
to
accept
these truths
like…
that I’m failing
at the simplest of
tasks
or
that I’m
unable
to control myself
and what
I am
or
that
I am no
longer
someone that
I would
look
up
to
for the most part,
I can ignore these.
going about my days
in bliss and happiness
and sunshine
other times,
I am not so
lucky
when my bed
seems my only
friend
and I flop
down into its
soft sheets
and begin drifting off
into my own
world
I am
suddenly reminded
of his
existence
this is when he doesn’t talk
he just looks at me,
knowing why I am so
desperate to get away
from everyone,
and continues to
look
stop staring!
I say
stop staring!
I say again
stop staring!
stop staring!
stop staring
you *******
freak!
but he doesn’t
I work myself up
arguing with him
rationalizing his motivations
analyzing his strategies
predicting his moves
it just makes the whole
experience hurt worse
until finally:
I grab the lamp,
the bottle, the
plate, the knife,
the book, the child,
the girlfriend, the
family member,
the moral
and
throw it at him
every time
the object shatters
against the wall
and the shadow
is gone
I never see where he goes,
I’m still not sure of his name
or his purpose
in these, my darkest hours,
I can feel his eyes burning
me
he whispers answers
too hard to swallow
and edges me on till
I gallop over the edge
once I jump,
he leaves,
leaving me to wrestle
back to some sort of
sanity
I am not sure why
I am not sure when
I am not sure how
it’s possible in the
first place
but I know he will return
and I will be left to wrestle
with myself when he departs
again
in my bleakest moment,
even sleep haunts me with
dreams of my corpse
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