Long road

In the dead of night

on that lonesome road

where the angels scream

and demons roam.

I heard a sound

Aching.

A tornado spinning

the endless days

into one thick

moment of night.

Grinding me

into the ground

in fright.

 

Heartbeat

playing hide and seek.

Fight or flight.

Heart crashes

to the ground

and lays

playing dead.

 

And I freeze.

As the strobing light

fill the sky

A face.

Gone.

In the blink of an eye.

 

Flash.

Face closer now.

Darkness.

Now nowhere to be seen.

A mask.

A hollow figure cast

in silhouette.

A vapour cloud

of a memory. It’s me.

Armed to the teeth with

putdowns to let loose upon me.

 

And I feel the punches

raining down

as the storm

hangs above me now,

thunder clouds my mind

I hear the sound

hailstones

crashing into my head.

But there is

nobody around.

The path is empty.

Just darkness ahead.

Flash.

A smile. No. A leer.

One I’ve seen before, so many times.

Where?

My mind mirrors memories

as

eyes fade to black.

Is this death?

Or am I just losing

conscio....

 

Behind my lids I see red.

I see confusion and dread.

I feel nothing.

 

The red fades to pink.

I’m floating on

cotton candy dreams.

I pluck shooting stars

from behind my eyes

and plant them deep into my heart.

For hope conquers fear.

Or at least it’s a good start.

 

I awaken. In bed.

No dark road, just four walls

and a hot cup of hope.

And whilst the roads ahead

may be fraught,

the fear I hold taut,

or the fear I’ve been taught,

is all in my head.

Reflections in the bathroom mirror

 

I stand under bathroom light,

mirror emblazons

a mask of lies. My life in

imposter syndrome dreams

across my eyes .

As the echoes

of days limp on by.

 

In the dim lit night

every drop of red,

bled from ground down gums,

appears like ink 

smearing the sink in memories,

that only come when the

gravelly voice that screams

back at me, gently weeps.

Wishing to be

cleansed of the self-doubt

in every word he speaks.

 

Late nights

and distressed

dreams

sit in bags

beneath the eyes,

spilling their contents

over the cold floor.

The rush of water

floods my mind

and inside I’m drowning

under the interrogating lights

of this torture cell,

lungs filling with

the burning pain of a scream

that I can’t let out.

For if I do, more water will pour in.

 

Age worn eyes stare at

the reflection, glaring back at me.

The confidence

that once bathed me,

now circles the plughole

before it gurgles,

mimicking my voice.

The face staring back

seems older than

the years account for.

More than the Calander pages

torn up across the floor.

 

Bloodshot blue eyes

sit under greying highlights.

Age draining

the remaining colour

down the sink.

Leaving only

a faded memory

wilting in place,

whispering as days

gurgle away.

 

I turn the taps full

and take a swimming handful,

brimming through fingertips as

I splash across my face.

Washing away the fear,

I look to the face and whisper

in softened tones,

getting old?

Not on your life.

Just wiser.

And I smile,

turning off the light

and step outside.

The mirror a lie, when my heart

has eternity on its side.

Poisoned doorway

 

Nothing grows

no moss-covered words.

Brickwork of

ivy climbing verbs.

No staccato cobweb messages,

all that remains is a faded visage.

A mental tirade of a home.

A graveyard of pained memories.

The doorway framed with poison,

the windows coated in unspoken verses,

the walls bled from the page.

 

The floorboards once rumbled

with gentle excitement,

the furnishing used to be

song loving flowers,

sunbeam curtains of diamond white.

The television rarely seen

amidst the wispy dreams

that coated the walls,

and music hugged

the ceiling beams.

Rooms that sparkled only

to be joyous.

Eruptions of hope

in flower filled chorus.

 

Now feet only crunch

over carcass shards,

broken promises

and stolen heartbeats.

Charred remnants

of love letters

lost.

Still burning hearts

fill the old fireplace,

but drifting embers

sweep up the chimney

into another dream.

 

Inside used to be cakes

baking in the summer heat,

the smell of love

bubbling on the stove.

We spoke. And we sung.

Of futures unseen,

of futures not to be.

Inside we danced our perfect

 

Prison...

 

For it was all lies.

The despising eyes,

the way the sighs

outplayed the highs.

The way every day

felt like a dark night.

The abuse of the mind,

under gaslit light,

and now the place sits empty

devoid of life or love of any kind.

It’s time to bring in the bulldozer.