From Within

 

From deep in the depths

of my darkest nightmares.

She screams my name.

Intense it fills me with pain,

that piercing wail

in the midnight stillness.

My illness.

She sings in a voice only I can hear.

One that I Fear.

 

She is not always present,

goosebumps announce her presence.

When she is there, anxiety grows,

from within she lets me know.

Gripping my skin with icy fingers.

It's like my world is ending,

her will is not for bending.

 

From deep down in the pit of my soul

she gurgles my name.

A hurtful sound points out every spit letter,

every spilt drop of blood,

every split lip I've ever worn,

every black eye that has marked my face.

To make me look deep inside,

she holds the mirror from which I hide.

 

She has me tearing at worn skin

from underneath, she whispers words,

taunting.

She saunters in with a swing,

builds me up to feel like a king,

before knocking me down,

like the jester I am.

 

Depression is her name.

She comes when things are dire.

She loves to play her little game,

makes my brain misfire.

She likes to make me doubt,

takes my happy thoughts

and throws them out.

Sometimes we get along,

just not when she sings her hateful songs.

 

 

Thanks For Reading,

Peace, Love and Poetry.

Kyle

Hellhole

 

Accustomed to my surroundings I'd become.

It wasn't so glum, this hellish slum,

the music was good for a start

all the best bands played in these parts.

But my feet started to itch,

it could have been the blisters from the fire filled pits

or just the urge to leave.

 

It could have been the stench of liars and cheats

that made me turn my nose up at the place.

But I needed to hit the road, I wanted to smell burning rubber

instead of the aroma of the sweaty moneygrubbers.

The politicians that make my heart shudder in fear,

funny how so many of them ended up here.

 

I missed the old streets that I called home,

places I'd roamed.

During lonely daydreams in this horror show, nightmare world

I'd remember the feeling of us curled

tightly together, the feeling of your breath.

Now that I don't feel it. I feel like death.

I confess this place has the better of me

and my hope is sinking somewhere in a lava filled sea.

 

I'd become numb to the heat,

the sweltering fires that singed skin deep.

I'd become used to the toil

of smashing rocks and soil

to keep the demons happy.

No one wants a demon who is snappy.

I was acclimatised to the hate and the lies,

to the people that I'd normally despise.

 

In this hellhole I'd spend most of my time,

seems like forever scrabbling through the grime.

What was my crime?

I barely remember.

I took a wrong turn, I fear

somewhere many years away from here

and now I'm just passing the days,

waiting for eternity to whittle away.

 

 

Thanks For Reading,

Peace, Love and Poetry

Kyle.

Visitors

 

It all started with the dreams.

Nightmares and visions,

torturous screams.

It was like we were all watching the same movie scenes

played to us on internal cinema screens.

Deserted wastelands, desolate red countryside

and us all fleeing.

Rats trying to hide.

 

The itch began.

Deep inside the head.

Like insects were crawling inside,

flittering over things we've said.

Scratching did nothing to dull the itch,

it was infernal.

Nothing to do but feel the twitch

of this irritation internal.

 

Then came the rain,

the atmosphere was charged.

Storms filled the drains.

Through the rain voices filled our brains.

A language that we didn't understand,

not like human words,

projected sounds and visions into our pineal glands.

Filled our minds with images,

dark and vivid.

 

Then they came,

in ships that blocked out the sun,

from the stars.

We had nowhere to run.

They just hovered above.

Watching.

Waiting...

Were they expecting a welcoming?

or were they baiting?

To see if we would take our normal path.

Throw some missiles at them,

and not worry about the aftermath.

 

We did of course,

It is all us humans seem to be good for

death, destruction and war.

But it was like throwing stones at a tank

our nukes didn't make a dent,

collective hearts sank

and the ships still loomed in the air.

 

Gunpowder, pollution and radiation

was what the creatures were craving.

The atmosphere perfect for them to breathe.

They exited their ships

and took over the lands beneath.

They allowed us to live.

Worked us to death on their pollution machines,

slaves to their needs

and when we had served our purpose,

on us they would feed.

 

 

Thanks For Reading,

Peace, Love and Poetry.

Kyle