The Veil
I've found no rest under the veil.
Terrors spool their wretched gifts
atop a haggard pillow- lying in wait.
Waiting for my conscious mind to
become exasperated enough to
fall from the fraying rope of sanity.
I go to War. Instinctually scrambling
for energy. Determined not to succumb.
Because sleep has lost its comfort.
But, as the sound of knives sharpening
ripens inside grey matter and I begin
to see the crimson curtains shut-
I cower, and inevitably fall.
Lost to the Demons I've created,
the memories I've tattooed into
the place that was once a haven.
Writhing and bruising knuckles
against walls made of neglected
hope. Visions plastered against
my cage crumble and I become
encapsulated by an existential
anomaly that I've, on so many sleepless
nights tried to quantify by starlight.
I have no answer.
Only sore hands, and shaking limbs.
Red eyes, and sweat soaked sheets.
A dizzy recollection of what I can only
assume in the moment is, a sample.
An angry God's warning.
Hell is real.
I've been there.
So, I ice my hands and pluck the
dreams out of my eyes, and mold
the remains into a verse,
only to clutch it and wonder.
What does it mean?
-James Kelley 2018
Copyright © James Kelley | Year Posted 2018
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