Sleep Paralysis
Waking became worse than dreaming
of guilt and endless rooms
familiar and upside down
bottomless pits on the ceiling
falling upwards
to breathe but not move
words like mercury in the throat
dispel panic through fluttering eyelids
know there is no sense in fighting
a prison of the mind
as limbs stiffen hard
at the sight
perched on the bed
with angel wings
borne of kerosene
headlights for teeth
gnashing at the stillness
beneath tight sheets
A cherry pit soul
screams freedom
TW: Gore, canibalistic imagery, mentions of violence
Reclamation
a crack of the skull to let the demons out
sharp daggers to the chest
pouring love; painting a sygil
violence on grass blades and mushroom tops
too dizzy to lift a hand
skin marred and beautiful, bloody even
nibbled by canines and premonition
bit down on finger bones
gritty and callous resistance
chewed the marrow like tobacco
spit it out, too
onto cold ground; it ferments
like fallen leaves atop moss
the flies buzz hymnals
and maggots squeal
gleeful, they’ll burrow holes
a porous sponge
for mud and dust and rainwater
raw and plain
sinking into the earth
your final resting place
TW: Mild gore
Panic
It starts with a s u r g e
not like a seizure’s electrical storm
but a thickening of your skull
soupy membranes turned slick and wiry
veins puffed up and tangled
Entrapped in your mind
the heat pounds heavy and gross
filling your ears with thoughts
taking no form, no substance
unintelligible thoughts of the present and future
And exposure
a naked vulnerability as eyes find you
where all senses and sense of peace have eroded
and you question whether peace ever was
or was it always anticipation?
of a quiet that won’t last
But you beg for one that lasts
you stupidly, ridiculously beg for one that lasts
for a tranquil touch you swore you used to know
Was it seconds ago or longer
so familiar and so far
with tainted bones
a brain stained and comprehending
that a dull poison
will still kill you
Homebody
The copper hinges on the backyard door groan when it rains
pipes thundering like a dejected one man drumline
the clothes line snapped last month
just before the sink ran dry
but the wallpaper got wet somehow
and the ceiling weeps every morning
It sags like peeled flesh
with mold like hair growing
or maybe I’m imagining the fuzz in the fridge
that’s not frigid anymore
and I wonder if that’s why they call fridges fridges
or if chairs always had three legs instead of four
but that can’t be right because the kitchen table has two
and my bed squeaks because it’s lonely
I’ll grease the hinges next time it rains
TW: Sexual assault, domestic violence, toxic relationships
My Savior
Should I bless
the carving in my chest
where your words plucked at veins
and picked at my pulp
wrap me up and keep me
Should I weep
as you leave
Would it relieve
this bleeding heartache
aching for your nails digging in
for the impact of your fist
the raised bruises on my arms
burning between my thighs
It was always you I begged for
I wanted the hurt you’d give me
even still I do
sometimes miss you
miss the misconception
that I deserved this
and that kneeling on my knees
was deliverance
I begged you to deliver me
holy and broken
dignity like a lemon peel
I’m worth nothing to you
and I owe you your falling flesh
without a kiss
of apology or sympathy
No goodbyes
for the liars and sadists
because you killed me
and I saved me
This is a counter to the first poem I made for the blog way back in 2021! In it, I explored feelings of isolation and the sense that those around me were living their lives while I succumbed to my own struggles. I wanted so badly to take hold of my life, but I felt I couldn’t. This revisitation conveys a resolve to live, and serves as a reminder that nobody has things “figured out,” and that that is perfectly alright.
The Fog (Revisited)
Apart from everyone
pure silence punctures
thick fog
not by choice
Not special but singular
beings rush by
defined while I am not
speaking where I cannot
Self-pitiers do not prosper
I transition to spite myself:
a new person of different desires
deeper volition
not helpless but harboring demons
in the dark and daytime
Concealment isn’t comfort anymore
I am strange and suffering
no different from the spectators
The fog recedes
I see now
the world isn’t new
but I am in it
