there’s no one here
just me
and my head
split
in too varied options
pinned to my existence
I try to centre each of them
find a purpose, fit in
when a race against time
tryin’ to rip
the life out of me
where the Grim Reaper fights the Greatest Foe
strikin’ the hour with its claws
rippin’ my insides, diggin’ in my soul
in every harrowed hour of my disturbed dream
“to hell with it, get off me!”
I scream
there’s no one there
to save me from this monstrosity enslavin’ me
like a prisoner in his cell
"is he still there? alive?" I’m wonderin’
I left him there a while ago
and I still don’t know
what’s goin’ on
with this narcissistic withdrawal of information
almost as if someone
threw me right in the middle
and forgot to tell the basics
needed for survival
will I ever be free again?
***
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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