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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Personal · #1065264
Poetry. Autobiographical. Dark Imagery.
I stare at my room.
a stark, hospital-white structure, walls glaring back at me like a featureless faces.
Its identity lost, asphyxiated with layers of paint,
smothered with a glossed surface.

The furniture was taken yesterday.
I cried.

A rising, overpowering, tide of hatred takes my breath away,
white paint runs down the walls, chased by blackness.
The room becomes a writhing mass of black,
consuming anything.
The natural, pure light from outside no longer penetrating my space,
absorbed by the darkness.

A piercing scream comes hurtling out of the black beast,
hitting my ears like a rain of hammers
my ears - useless
my screams - useless
body in a state of shock, I stumble backwards,
feeling my legs buckle from under me, finding only my knees to rely upon.

The blood flows.

As I knew it would, as it did before.
The life fills my mouth, spilling from the corners of my lips,
as I struggle to hold it in, the current grows stronger,
staining my pale skin scarlet as it covers me
erupting from my throat.

I adhere to natural instincts and attempt to stand up.
My legs scream distaste, and my head loses all knowledge,
as I fall flailing to the floor, my body stopping.

My body stops.
Time sees me collapsed lifelessly in its headlights, and comes to a standstill.

Here I lay, rendered lifeless by bitter thoughts.
Here I lay, stranded in this ebony prison.
Here I lay alone.

I wake, screaming like a child possessed,
Searching for someone to save me.

Nobody hears,

This isolated room contracting like a dark heart,
Pumping me with fear.

Here I lay.

© Copyright 2006 Dylan Coman (djdcoman at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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