Sometimes a threat
Feels worse
Than what’s to come

It’s the feeling of
Ambiguity
And the itch of not knowing

Acknowledging that there’s danger,
But what kind?
It’s unknowable until the moment

Like a bespectacled man
Inside a dark cave
He has the tools, but cannot work

When you can’t lash out
Or even caress
Whatever can do both

When you can’t outsmart
Or out-stupid
Whatever does neither

When you can’t run away
Or charge towards
Whatever needn’t move an inch more

That’s when you let
Instincts
Take you out for a spin

When logic and words are replaced
By snarls and roars
And that’s honestly the best sounds available

When careful movements are ditched,
Flailing arms and kicking legs reign
And you feel every muscle in harmony

That’s when you lose your humanity
But win the fight
And that’s what really matters

But did you really win?
I mean,
You lost your mind wrestling a thought.

Echo, Wood nymph of folklore
Punished by Goddess Hera
Hated, there was no choice
Fated, deprived of her voice
Repeating words you hear
Punishment for a puppeteer
You fell in love
so you thought
With Narcissus
But he got caught
Looking at his own reflection
Turned him into a flower
Not his finest hour
Leaving Echo lonely and sad

For all the cads that
Never met a mirror they didn’t like
Who’s self-absorbed refection
Removes any trace of reflection
A thought can be misleading
Even if informed by a feeling
Don’t think
Because you think it it’s true
Consider others point of view
Don’t think because I disagree
There’s something wrong with me
Don’t always refer to you
Your grandiose style
Is just a grandiose denial
And while you deny that it’s true
Only an echo believes in you
Must I echo your words
How utterly absurd
This I can’t do
Even if it displeases you
Nothing moves you
Except for the powerless, you occasionally feel
Let’s you know you’re real
And yes
The rage is real
Hidden so well
That no one can tell
As you covertly hide from yourself
Your histrionics are first rate
Always out of date
A recording from the past
You’d think, you’d have worn out the grooves
Of the characters you cast

At last
There’s never an end
To the people I meet

All the friends you absorbed
Into the persona that’s you
Each has a name
But there nameless to you
I say
I know where you got that from
You say
There’s nothing new under the sun
I say
What about originality
You say
Plausible deniability
I say
I really, really need to get away
I say
Then, why do you stay?

I’m in search of my voice
I left it behind
In another time
I need it
Have you seen it
It could be
Anywhere
Under the couch
In the closet
Under the bed

You’re looking in the wrong places
The world’s a reflection
Of the spaces
Between the thoughts
Of your stasis.

It’s true
I’m never alone when I’m with you
Like living in a zoo
Forgive my sarcasm
Lack of enthusiasm
That’s what it feels like
Being with you.
First, you’re uncle Fester
Then you’re Grandma Ester
Who are you really
You don’t know
Do You

You never looked that far
Skin deep
Go that deep
Take a look
What do you see
It isn’t me

I’m not the object of your hatred
I’m not your scapegoat
Forgive the diatribe
For I am a scribe
Looking for her voice.
I am Echo no more

It pushes everyone away.
It ruins all my relationships.

I died at the hands of my thoughts today.

He tells me that he loves me,
He tells me that it’s okay,
But they won’t let me believe it.

is love real?
is happiness real?
is anything real?
because at this rate, it might all just be fake.


in fact,

that’d be better, because then i wouldn’t have to feel this pain.

why do you push everyone away?
why do you hurt everyone?
why do you hurt me?
why do you care so much about what they think?





why can’t i break free?

And alas!
The horrid demon has fallen!
And who was the one to slay it?
None other than your own head!

Alas!
You have pulled yourself out of this nightmare and inserted yourself into a new one!
Only in this new nightmare, you cannot die.
Only cry.

While the concept of reality slowly fades into being questionable,
Your screams are the only thing you can hear.

Once everything fades into the background,
A few objects remain.

The shackles on your hands and feet,
And the cloth gag that is bound to your head with a chain—
Like a cursed child’s headband.

The gag seems to press further into your mouth each time you cry,
Slowly sinking down into your throat.

It softly brushes against the opening of your esophagus,
And your reflexes kick in.

You choke,
Your eyes bulging out in terror,
The veins on your face becoming a fiercer blue.
Your cheeks flush,
And a hot,
Miserable bead of sweat trickles down your forehead as you struggle.

Further,
Further.

You sink into eternal madness.

Then,
Someone walks into the nonexistent room.

They have a syringe—
The metal needle shining brightly,
Even though there’s no source of light.



And they walk closer.



And then the needle is a spoon,
And the man is your father.

It’s just your father
Feeding you medicine.

You just fainted.
You know the drill.

The dark room was just the bathroom light turned off.

Same old, same old.

The chains are your leggings at your feet,
Because you couldn’t change out of your clothes completely.

The gag
Was just a suppressed scream before you fainted.


This whole thing



Was just a dream.

The door is oddly unlocked
As I turn the **** subconsciously
For whatever reason.

It creaks open,
And the soft afternoon light
Suddenly becomes blinding.

The floorboards twist,
Turn,
And scream under my weight.

And it begins to feel like
Someone’s been here before.


But I shrug it off
As if it’s nothing,
And keep going.

I send my feet to the living room
Step
By
Step,

Someone’s definitely been here.


But I shrug it off,
Not fully believing it’s nothing.
But nonetheless I keep going

into the living room.
Yes, that is where my feet go.

My eyes cannot fully register what is going on.


A scene out of a tragic painting,

Blood is dripping from the curtains hanging.


And there it lays—
The thing of ultimate dismay.

My mother,
The one who birthed me,
The one who raised me,
And the only one who loved me

is dead.

More dead than the ants we step on from time to time.

More dead than those who came before me
Hundreds of years ago.

More dead
Than my soul could ever be.

My mother,
A tapestry painted with blood,
Lays there

Desolate and beautiful.

A tear streaks her face,
As if to say,
“Why must you leave me in this place?”

I suddenly feel
That I’ve seen that look on her face.

I close my eyes,
As if it were all a bad dream,
Hoping to wake
And have some coffee with cream.

But I open my eyes to my mother’s demise,
And my ears start hearing
The sound of my own screaming.

The tears keep coming,
And she feels nothing.

She’s been stabbed
By someone who feels like me
repeatedly.
Blood spills out of her wounds
And I suddenly feel
That it once coated me.

The tears keep coming,
But I say nothing.



This tapestry
Was painted in blood.


And the artist,
I sickeningly realize,




Was none other





            than me.

I rest in the belly of rage
Overwhelmed and a bit dismayed

Unable to speak
Without spewing venom
I seek shelter
From my mental asylum

This torture is but my own
Come one
Come all
Then be gone

Let me rest
Until I return again

This beast is not my friend.