Fetal in the blackness
A void of ruptured truth
Buried beneath the blankets
I’d been deliberately obtuse
Red flags flailed frantically
I depleted my supply
Enmeshed with blue-eyed misery
And never questioned why
Repressed my authenticity
Wide open for the kill
No fight or flight, I’m done for now
Ironically I’m still
A smooth grey stone
A vast still trove of murky emerald green
Artlessly sinking to the depths
Never to be seen..
.. White light appears, the blackness clears
And stillness dissipates
I’m buzzed back to reality
Where agony awaits
I hold on tight, I hear her truth
Pull the blankets back and sigh
Gaze out my old wood window pane
Inconsolably I cry
No insightful theory
Unjustifiably terrified
Trembling uncontrollably
Completely stupefied
Stop! The strategy is colour:
‘White fan’ .. ‘green plant’ .. ‘brown frame’
Easy now, between the bucks
Fickle bronco yet to tame
There’s solace in the reckoning
A dust filled aftermath
It settles slowly, coating me
Paves a crossroad in my path
It’s lonely and untraveled
Hard but safer, this I know
I stumble forward cautiously
Dusting off toward tomorrow
About the Creator
B.Me
An authentic and intimate offering of lived experience and creativity. My only goal is to claim space as I am and practice this modality that provides me with the unique opportunity to reflect and express myself. Feedback is welcomed! B x
Delicious Nightmares
There is nothing novel in the observation that a good cinema experience is akin to a waking dream. We sit in darkness and become enveloped in a world of images that we piece together to form a narrative. Sometimes the images overpower us and we struggle with the paralysis of a nightmare. And then the lights come back up and we take a breath to remember it was not real, we were not in that car crash, we were not in a fight, we were not a lover being romanced. And we need a moment between the last credit and the real world to gather our thoughts to find meaning in what we have seen.
By Rachel Robbinsa day ago in Writers
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