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. |