Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Rotting Behind My Eyes

I talk to the walls
hoping they will answer
in their usual low husky growl.

But today I fear
I am losing my mind,
more than what has already ran away.

The walls reply in snarls,
spitting spiders out of non existent holes
who stampede towards me showcasing depraved grins.

The rotten molding wakes from a timeless sleep
forming white rows of chattering teeth
and warn me it’s time to leave.

When I reach for the doorknob it melts in my hand, burning my skin.
I blink, realizing I am looking for something that was never there.
The scars disappear, the door disappears, I disappear.

Those faded rose patterns and white chipped paint
don’t want me to leave, nor do the nurses,
as they tighten the restraints on my wrists and ankles
keeping me locked inside the confines of my psyche, my own personal hell.