Best Paralysis Poems
“Sleep paralysis is like a waking nightmare, except you can’t escape it.” – Unknown
Tonight, when the
jilted bells toll,
my decayed
soul sighs,
I lay paralyzed
beneath an estuary sky
of thin fluffy ruffles-
cashmere mattress
of cotton coated clouds,
with stories over time-
like a silent slave chained
to sinister darkness,
within an ice-gold
casket of nightmares,
as my skin is folded,
wrapped around,
inside black
chiffon clothe-
this mind is
held by ghosts,
shivering from
echoing terrors,
whilst exhaling clusters
of claustrophobic truth,
searching for the
fight between
shackled knuckles,
screaming, yet, I
hear restlessness,
questioning the
angels of sleep;
If this isn’t life
after death,
why do I hear
springs sing
seraphic symphonies
of celestial showers?
Perhaps, the
blinding glow
of drizzling diamonds,
and ivory pearls
of seven
serene seas,
are mere signs of
heaven’s gate
being unlocked.
Although I can
barely move,
third eye keeps
pacing faster
than my shadowed voice,
where I walk down
the lane of delirious visions,
wondering if this is
my Silhouette
in a realm of lies.
For unwritten fate,
has lines of my
life quilted with silk
across a pillow of fog,
where consciousness
is out of sight,
rendered colour-blind,
and my heart remains
a thief in duress.
But as I struggle
to untie twisted
thoughts between
dusk and dawn,
I find stars of relief,
choking on mercy,
wrapped in denial-
I inhale moonlight,
I am now awake.
The night of notorious orchids
speaks in faltering bioluminescence,
hurling ricochets of rhapsody
through conch-shell chaos,
like gothic mantras
rising from wounded waves,
carrying salt-soaked roses
into the face of interstellar inferno ~
an unsettling
illustration of internal paralysis…
I am scarlet-scarred frost,
crestfallen in silent disarray,
like an avalanche ~ already torn,
consumed in chronic emptiness,
collapsing into
compulsive numbness,
unable to voice the truth,
shattered by the last dying breeze
that smothered my will
to believe ~ to rise ~ to dream…
But, am I to be crowned with blame,
laced in regret and shame,
while the mirror mirrors
a pulse that pains in self-isolation,
a soft-spoken sabotage,
fearing every familiar flicker
of fragranced starlight,
questioning the silk
and silver on moon-rivers,
for even the beauty of love feels
like temporary treachery,
betraying bouquets of constellations…
And I communed with soul’s serpents ~
they know the hollowness
of this splitting madness…
Must I perish
in a catacomb conscience,
where the mind gaslights grief,
manipulating melancholy
like a widow’s deathless elegy,
as if I were no poet ~
with a mourning riddle,
bleeding ballads
through blistered thistles ~
the anatomy of a heart
abandoned and forgotten
in its own crypt of catharsis…
When you look at your reflection in a mirror, what do you see?
I see a failure, and that failure is me.
I feel like I’m stuck yet I pace up and down.
My face is etched with a worrying frown.
The problem is I tend to fester and then over-think.
At times It’s so bad I feel like I need a drink.
My stomach’s in knots and my mind in a different place.
There’s just so much that I simply can’t face.
But this analysis paralysis will not be the end of me.
First steps needed – deep breaths and a cup of tea.
Music helps me to relax and to calm.
I know that I have support so I’m safe from any harm.
I’m loved by others which makes me warm inside.
I will keep on going – one day I’ll hold my head up with pride.
In the avalanche, I lost track of my guiding light.
I fled my fireside. I had to evacuate my homestead.
Driven far astray by frenetic frozen fright,
I was just a cowardly racing rescuing airhead.
The wounded wooden face of my brother
lugged away by paramedics in a wheelchair.
My tomb of sleep was my 3 am druthers.
But I called 911, puzzling at my sibling’s stare.
Living and dying from underworld to mountaintop,
the EMTs raised him off the floor like a bag of potatoes.
Everything was breathing pollen and allergen nonstop.
All my raw instincts lacked right or wrong thought flows.
It’s true; I lost poetry. I abandoned my paintings, my pottery,
as though the subverting season of AI sophistry reigned supreme,
as though all creativity was randomized in a human lottery,
as though all consciousness is reduced to a particle beam.
Vacant, these weary eyes roll up in my head.
Vacant, how much long-term despondency to endure?
My brother lives and dies each day in his bed,
defenseless, like a never healing wound with no cure.
My days are distractions, a mad confusing deflection.
I vacated my poetic home, my fireside muse.
I raft the unfamiliar caregiver currents without reflection.
I can’t live forever homeless, maintaining the caregiver ruse.
Sleep now, my brother, knowing life offers you another aim.
Tap resilience from your broken body. This will clear your mind.
My pallet for tending, nourishing, and wiping deserves no acclaim.
Nobody asks for these duties. No one can ever put them behind.
Red digits glare at me
3:39 in the morning
I can’t feel my legs
My arms
I can’t move
My chest is a compressed spring, tight
It is hard to breathe
My door creaks open
No
Footsteps on the wooden floors of my bedroom
No,not tonight. Please not tonight.
Terror fills my chest as the intruder enters my bed, sliding beneath
My blanket as if it was their own.
This is evil. I can feel it. This isn't real!
Skeletal arm around me
They are ice cold and I can’t scream
Don’t touch me Don’t touch me Don’t touch me Don’t touch me
Go away please
I want to scream,
To move
To run
Run away!
But I cannot move
as icy breath caresses the back of my neck
Their lips are dry and
they are skin and bone
There is no warmth
and I feel hollow
As the kiss is planted behind my ear
“Not today. You aren’t ready today. “
He.
His voice is raspy, as hollow as he feels
as he presses himself against my back
His ribs rub against me as he leaves, moving a hair away from my face.
I do not know his face
I do not want to know his face
What was that?
My door is shut and I try to move but still find it futile to move
I scream myself awake
For the fourth time this week
My feet so heavy
My arms so heavy
My thoughts so heavy
My eyelids heavy levees
So no more tears.
Lying in bed
With a gun to my head
But I can't pull the trigger
Because my fingers are lead.
No use in crying
No matter what I do
I keep living; I keep dying
I am a wasp in amber-- merely existing
But I will forever
I can't breathe
Lemon and reef sharks
Upside down, enter tonic
Immobility
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-4.php
fulcrum of the scent
bewilders the analyst ~
koel sings love songs
01-September-2022
Mind Paralysis
by Odin Roark
Perhaps our alter ego spider
Spacewalking the ceiling’s moonscape of popcorn paint
Will spew its silent tether,
Another lure to temp our frozen stupor,
Perhaps draw out our insomniac-demon
For a tasty make-believe meal.
Such are the psychic games we play
While inhaling one’s scented candle
Of cedar and pine,
Trusting insentience will abate,
Allow judgment to gavel peaceful silence,
And end this fiendish sanity-court’s entrapment.
How long must our stub of a pencil
Remain idle beside its razor blade shavings?
How this tool loves to goad our uninspired eyes
To prod fingers into raising its sharpened point
Springboard some words into fanciful flight
Around our brain’s spacious dark side
Discover its illumined side in passing
And jettison some meaning
Into unexplored mind-space.
How patient the spider and pencil--
Waiting out a perceptive being’s limbo state,
Anxious to extend their oneness of simple purpose
Into our complexity of will.
But—
They know not the screaming parrot
In our cage of discontent
Convincing us of imitation’s voice
Those uninspired words spoken many times
Remaining valid for the masses
Unexpected—
An open window’s breeze
Gives arc to innocence rappelling down
Its web in undulating rhythmic motion,
Tempting once again
The pencil to rise above
The crinkled bed
Of whittled preparation.
Perhaps tonight?
The Man they were faithfully under
Was wasted by Judgmental Thunder:
From photographs ‘A City after Plunder’
Or rather A Bombed Statue not a blunder
A watching, finishing Morning Thunder
Scarier than Lions that tear asunder
Just remembered a hotelier admittedly wicked,
All his female staff to often go naked:
As early as Six in the morning,
Bum shorts that set The Heart a-mourning
Or sometimes a bizarre miniskirt
Upholding nothing but Spiritual Dirt …
If he lived would continued to along lumber
And much shortened years on Earth number
Or around walking with a sure paralysis
That would keep laughing at Analysis …
I tell you-Yep-The fullest stroke
For which one wouldn’t recognize a bloke.
The Impending End of Paralysis
In the name of Jesus,
paralysis must flee!
I’ve had enough of being
the stone statue that
everybody pushes over.
Well, at least everyone
who comes into contact
with me that is prone
to commit manipulation.
If there is an elephant
in the room, it is sure
to kick my stoned body over
and press its huge foot into
my chest and face.
It will not let up until
it is done.
Have all the fun you can,
paralysis!
Because the day will come
when I will shed this stony
identity!
I will be like David
with a slingshot
and a rock
and you will be done for!
A man wearing funeral clothes
Tongue tied, an unspoken tryst.
He smiles, like an affectionate holocaust
A quadrupedal wood, the locus
of a hoover act.
An assigned peacemaker painted
Over the Judas kiss.
And the one in a dress
I dont pray,
Nor his cousins are my prey.
So i return, my oldest friend
He bulids a concrete wall on
my chest,
Waiting for my heart to turn into a sapphire.
As i carry around his gifts
The kaleidoscopes, the Pavlovian nerves,
The rings of the my eyes that
aren't on my side.
The other one gets all the light,
The hails, the knees to the ground.
No parasites in his body
With neighbours mowing,
their own cells clean.
And four months, is a holy time.
A life time of abyss, retreat flagged love
Letting the devil's teeth out in every photograph.
Ah, the kids carrying flowers!
cannabis.
You lionize, idolize
Let them eat your dreams up, like cannibals.
Their tickers ticking too fast,little
violet explosives.
How they dread the same gates guarded by a goddess,
No gold and marble like The Hours'
But i fancy my rewards regardless
the red.
And i dont pray, my name is an oxymoron.
It rains a little and you ask for a scythe
You, moron!
It always ends the same drenched in sweat and fear.
The pain of death always feels so real and near.
Stuck frozen in place, eyes wide.
It crawls around my room I'm paralyzed,
Eyes dart across the room horrified.
It reaches my bed where I lay in a death state
Nails dig into my shoulders as it leans in. I feel like bait.
My ears ring from the loud cries. It wants my soul.
Jokes on it, I'm ginger so I only have a black hole.
Released but not forgotten, I'll see it again tonight.
one half’s an arc the other a strobe ~ light becomes your coagulant
signals and synapses firing off sparks ~ try open eyes but you can’t
all bound together forming a dream ~ welded to the somnambulant
Delicate disturbance in the night,
Enough to make you never forget,
Gentle rattling at the window,
An airy chant from under the door,
Faceless voice,
Sore,
Devastating,
Craving a taste of love,
Like the heart of the night
She is condemned to darkness,
Feel her creep.
Unable to move
And straining to speak,
I wake.