His Psychosis
by Coralie Rowe
The space in between is where he exists
A realm of nothingness filled with mist
An illusionary world which is his own
His place within which he calls home
His silent retreat to where he does go
When the demons inside start to show
His internal escape from their grasping claws
His inner sanctum where he can bar the doors
He doesn't know what they do when they play
Or for how long they will decide to stay
He is cocooned somewhere deep way inside
From their miscreant deeds he does hide
So he doesn't see the gore or hear the screams
Whilst away in his land of delusional dreams
And even though the vista is just misty air
It has to be better than what's happening out there
He learned long ago of what they can do
And forever since has ran when they ensue
He knows that they arise for the taste of blood
Only diminishing after bathing in a sanguine flood
The worst part of reemerging away from his space
Is what he would see as he looked around the place
He himself would be covered in scarlet red
White eyes shining through, surveying the dead
Broken bodies with torn limbs, lie askew
How could he explain that he never knew
He was an innocent victim of his own insanity
And what they did when in the depths of depravity
So brutal in their dissection of those they kill
He knows he should fight them but he never will
Instead he retreats to his secret hideaway
Whilst his demons take over and continue to slay
He never meant to harm and it wasn't actually he
Yet he is the one left standing amidst the barbarity
He was never there, he was locked away in his head
But physically it was he, that made so many dead
No comments:
Post a Comment