Chemically balanced hallucinations
brought to life by memories no longer buried,
past visions of what were sins
embedded in the psyche; married
As it were. Bound in form and shape
as ethereal portraits, tattered canvases
strung end to end. Macabre film tape
overexposed to garish glass
Statuettes of disillusionment. Memory spark
gives light to dim horrors
so soon forgotten but with a careless remark
comes back with such savage roar.
Too curious about the dead and what cannot be,
sitting alone at a impasse, precipice,
the mirror of time shows a reflection not of me.
A strange face stares back, identity amiss
To the relation of the soul. Monsters and resurrection
dominate all thought process and function.
God. Damn. It. If only I could shun
what seems to demand and dominate attention;
More than its fair share of my time.
If I could push them back down
these unsightly demons of mine
would they weigh so heavy, an unpleasant crown
Made of thorns, of brambles and things made to prick
causing blood to draw from unsightly wounds
heavy on my heart like a cinder brick
sewn mortar with flesh, a self contained tomb.
Heavy is the heart behind the eyelids of the damned
wishes for sanity and longing for sleep
inside this crazed mind they now become crammed
nothing left to do now, but lie in the dark and weep.
© 2013 p.hill