On those darkest nights
When my blackest memories
Are the stuff
Horror writers dream of.
The tears flow
Like swollen rivers
From my eyes
Drowning my pillows
In their salty wetness.
As I dream
Of a place
Where I'm free
From these memories
And toxic emotions.
As my strength
Bleeds away
In waves of anxiety
Racking my body
Like the incoming tides
On a seaside beach.
Not even
Hypnos’ gift
Can spare me
From this.
Awakening to
A nervous
And drained body.
Poured
Into a foetal mould
By Hephaestus
Covered in lead.
Knowing
It's another 2-3 days
Before I can leave
This enforced confinement
On my bed.
As I retrace my steps
From this slag heap
That covers my soulscape
In toxic waste.
Hoping
Beyond hope
This will be
My last time.
Therisa © 2018
Author's note: On January 19th, I visited my doctor’s office, to get some forms filled out for my disability case file review. It felt like I had triggered a PTSD flashback, in the way that my body has been reacting for the past 3 days.
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