Holly King Poet Free verse

Myself & I

Writhing wickedly inside my cryptic cell.
This impeccable insanity that creeps
Like the phantom spider on my cobweb arm,
Tangling screaming insects in my sticky veins.
The blood red heat that steams my reason
To a bland white stone confusion,
So that psychotic murder reins down in my heart;
Lynched by my barbaric brain.
All the while conflicting cries from eternal enemies,
Myself and I; only one shall survive.
Outside it’s superior sunshine, but inside my
Insane cadaver my ears are tortured
To the shrieks of dreadful demons,
Scorching muscle from tendons.
Plucking nails from bed.
And can’t you?
Can’t any of you?
Perceive the itching of these terrible whispers?
Screaming for dominance on my soul,
Crawling over my ice exterior,
As I hold my fragmented smile to hide the tears,
Catching them in trembling cracked lips.
Falling in and out of reality,
Inside they scream louder for attention;
From me.
From you.
From anyone.
CAN’T YOU HEAR THEM?

…

Silently the murmurs begin once more.
Creeping piercingly along my frosty skin,
To slide across my withered throat.
Climb into my blasted ear,
Into my poor, poor nebulous mind.
Where pincers invade down
Into my vulnerable heart,
Where the phantom spiders hatch
In the crossroads of my impeccable insanity.
Whilst I writhe wickedly inside my cryptic cell
Strung, tortured by my own mutinous self.

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