Wheels of dread

 

On these winding roads,

the smoke and mirrors

of the universe are

framed

in cold steel fear,

as the rolling

wheels of dread slide

across the

glassy

surface.

 

Something untoward,

a figure

running toward

a cliffside pass,

I’m blinking

thoughts back 

like tears stuck

behind the glasses

covering my eyes.

 

I’m jolted into reality,

or insanity,

As the car veers

across lanes.

These open windows

into a world unsought

are slowing my reactions

to a crawl,

 

Did the figure fall?

Was there a figure at all

or is my mind starting to stall?

 

As I pass "The Crooked Boar"

I feel something more,

something in the darkness

watching as I drive by.

A right. A left.

A swerved collect call 

on our own mental stability,

calling to say it’s all too late.

Your fate was decided once

you left the motorway.

 

The rain streams down

the windscreen.

Wipers smearing

until view is awash

with snakes, scales of time

are hanging and

the lightning casts

a frightful sight. A silhouette

in the blood red moon.

 

This night is endless it seems

like one of those dreams,

nightmares,

where you wake

and are still there

deep in the dream,

in repeat,

only the scares

are more pronounced

the second time

around the track.

I feel the hairs on my neck, tighten

and hang themselves

from the moonlight beams.

 

I’ve seen this same

street sign creaking

in the rain

already

"The Crooked Boar"

appears to the left,

and in my mind, I see

a figure veer to a cliffside pass.

In red moonlight, a reflection

in a puddle of memory,

and I’m stumbling through

these thoughts of glass

as they cut ribbons

from my eyes.

 

On these winding roads

nothing seems real,

I pull over to stretch my legs.

Out of the darkness, a wailed screech,

assailing the senses.

I see a figure, a shape

silhouetted in moonlight glare, those eyes,

reflecting the light in the air, in steel frames,

a photograph moment

the fate in headlights glassy stare.

A creature not of this realm,

and he sees me as I see him,

I run as fast as my legs can take me.

 

All anyone sees is a figure

running

towards

a cliffside pass,

falling to the floor

beside "the crooked boar",

 

Steel framed

glasses, cracked.

Fractures

reflect a pool of blood

like ribbons

in the moonlight

 

A car sits,

empty

but still idling.

Condensation of screams

 

I keep looking

in windows and

they keep looking

back into me,

like staring

into the void,

and seeing my face

glaring back at me.

 

The reflection,

the one that

mimics me,

almost perfectly,

I say almost,

for every

now and then

I catch them

just a second

out of sync.

 

I stagger, and trip

trying to catch them

in the act, but they

are so good

at the deception

that they also lay flat.

 

The bathroom mirror,

the spoon in the drawer,

the shimmer in the tv,

the face on my phone.

They all show someone

that looks like me.

Just a little... More.

 

They are not me,

I am sure,

or I would be

 

if I didn’t think

I was losing my mind,

 

or that my mind

wasn’t already lost

in worrying fields

of what lays in store.

 

I’ve seen them.

The way they jitter

just a little,

like insects

controlling

a body, the way

the limbs

are spindlier,

the way the back

arches

crookedly,

like insects,

parasites ticking

over until what,

they take my soul?

 

Good luck with that!

 

I see them staring at me,

then I realise

they were staring first,

and now I’m reflecting them,

is this a curse?

I’ve lost the will to find out,

I’m lost in this universe.

I’ve lost my

words.

For their tongue is moving

and I’m speaking in return.

 

I look and I see I speak and I see.

 

They speak and I speak

and I’m not sure if it is me or they

that is in control.

Now I’m flailing on the ground,

and they are looking down

upon me,

 

I’m trapped behind glass,

and the world

is smeared

by the

condensation

of my screams.

 

As my fists crash against

the empty mirror

staring back.

Frankensteins fetid heart

 

We were so young,

inspires images

of flowers on a bright day,

but gravesides by dead light,

is a better fit, they would

later say.

 

You said you'd

hand your heart,

if I'd change.

 

So, I did.

 

I removed every

emotion that day.

I tore them into cobwebs

and threw them into the wind,

also discarding the glimpses

of sunlight

that weaved

through me.

 

I shaved my head,

those long locks

now left matted

on barbershop tiles.

All that mattered, I thought,

was to be in your whirlpool

as it swirled me up.

 

But this was not enough.

 

Your own distrust,

and those evil looks.

The words that cut. I severed

connections to all that I loved.

But still I was never

a dish you'd serve up.

I was left in the kitchen

with the flies feasting on me.

 

So, then I started to cut.

 

I removed my nose, replaced it

with one that you chose, I chiselled

at my cheekbones,

until they were sunken

and I was left bruised

and bleeding, I removed my skin,

and sewed it into something better fitting,

something you'd be willing

to be seen sitting with in a daydream.

 

But it wasn’t enough.

 

So, I removed

every day

that I'd laughed,

 

replaced them with

memories

implanted

in my head.

 

Then you said,

that I wasn’t the person

you fell in love with.

I was left just

 

a fetid heart

gurgling under

the spotlight.