4d
Thoughts twist me, into acrostic knots.
The knots, that nimbly choke...the clots, that simply grow.
I can't escape the thoughts,
like they were wadded ropes.
I flail, the plated locks...
and fumble, bladed keys.
But I can't break the seams;
that go on, breaking me...
I can't evade, the dreams...
with nothing next, to me.
So, even strengthless peace...
becomes the enemy.
And though I feign, release...
and fake, control of these...
These ******* painful things...
they take ahold, of me.
The knots, that nimbly choke...the clots, that simply grow.
I can't escape the thoughts,
like they were wadded ropes.
I flail, the plated locks...
and fumble, bladed keys.
But I can't break the seams;
that go on, breaking me...
I can't evade, the dreams...
with nothing next, to me.
So, even strengthless peace...
becomes the enemy.
And though I feign, release...
and fake, control of these...
These ******* painful things...
they take ahold, of me.
I can escape rope, thanks to the eternally useful lessons of Harry Houdini, which I read in Salem's Lot as a teenaged girl, and when I was younger, my cousin taught me, how to pick locks. I no longer ****** remember, how to do that. This, was loosely inspired by that, and BPD thoughts and feelings, combatting persistent, and relentless trauma.
