Wednesday, 4 January 2023

Deja Vu

 


Been here before,

I can remember this scene

like I was walking here one day,

sometime in a stolen dream.

 

I remember the faces,

the way I sense movement,

it's like I'm not in control.

Pulse in my neck races.

Through automated eyes I stare,

my gaze not mine.

It feels I'm being pulled

in one direction. I can't turn my head.

I can't explain. Nor unwire my brain

to look the other way instead.

 

Been here before,

can remember the scene,

I have lived this moment

in cycles it seems.

I go with the flow.

No choice. it’s their show.

My eyes only look where they are told,

my limbs move only where

memories tell me to go.

I see a note written in red ink.

Blood? It says turn your head.

 

But why do they always lead back here?

Is it this place I seek?

This door. This hand grabbing the handle.

Mine. It feels disembodied.

The door inches open with a grinding creak.

Sounds like the gates to hellish eternal penitentiaries, feels like a tomb

that hasn't been entered in centuries.

 

In the darkness a hand beckons me in,

A cackled laugh. I can picture a bloodysoaked grin.

As the creature within leaps

for my exposed throat.

I keep going back to the note.

Turn my head.

I look to my side.

There is a knife, almost within my grasp.

In the blood that pours from my ripped torn throat

I scrawl myself a note.

One day I may be able to break the cycle.

It's my only hope. Darkness cloaks...

 

Been here before,

I can remember this scene

like I was walking here one day

sometime in a stolen dream...

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Every click, every book purchase, every like helps me to keep doing what I love.
 
Peace, Love and Poetry 
 
Kyle
 
 

 

 

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