Long Night terrors Poems
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it comes and goes lately it seems
to linger leaving a few more scars
in its wake the mastering of self
the balance of craving the emptiness
shattered beneath us why must we
relive old memories collecting
saddened streams of haste causing
injury to the pure foundation of
emotional bliss the beautiful part
of self that rises to the surface
to rescue us from complete despair
awaken to soon we continue to wonder
aimlessly into moving traumatic events
reaching for respite familiar reoccurring
night terrors offering up our own
mental self broken by a bleak metaphor
seeking melancholy behavior only
finding mirth bottled up to perfection
Written by Mrs Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
Night Terrors
It sits hiding in the deep recesses of the mind, waiting in the dark for the moment when it can attack. Riding upon the winged beasts of the night, bringing horrors untold to those unaware of their intent. Asleep and unable to defend one’s self, night terrors attack.
Seeking the young, the battered, the old, and the week, they breed and spread evil upon the world of the sleeping. Feeding upon the screams in the minds of the unwary, these demons of the mind grow to consume all that is peaceful and serene. Savage and without mercy they tear apart all semblance of peace, in the dreams of there sleeping victims.
Riding the waves of the seas of our dreams as they are turned into unspeakable horrors of the mind, the dreamer finds themselves at the bottom of the sea of sleep. With visions and horrors beyond telling all that is innocent and pure in the mind is beyond them, as the screams in the night feed the horror that torments their sleep.
Rest is futile as they thrash trying to throw off the demons that haunt their sleep never peaceful the night a thing of disembodied torment. They seek the death of sleep without dreams or flights of fancy, no children playing, no flowers blooming just the deep, dark, black, of a death like state.
Writhing in the agony of the images that haunt them, the dreamers are unable to free themselves from the terror that taunts, when freedom is only an awakening away.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
NIGHT TERRORS RETURNED GRAVEYARD NIGHTMARE I DREAMED I TOOK MY OWN LIFE TODAY AFTER DECADES OF ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS EXTORTION OF HER AMERICAN POETRY EMBEZZLEMENT OF HER TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM SHE HAS ENDURED SEVERE DOMESTIC VIOLENCE TWO ABUSIVE EX HUSBANDS BOTH WORKING WITH AN ARSON MURDERER OF 9 HER ABUSE ESCALATED AS SHE ENDURED A CAR BOMB BLAST CRUSHING HER FACE BRUISED HER BRAIN SEVERE ONGOING TRAUMATIC HEADACHES THIS BEAUTIFUL CREATURE DELIVERED 8 CHILDREN 26 GRAND TWO GREAT SHE AND HER HUSBAND BOTH DISABLED BOTH DEDECATED VOLUNTEERING FOR VETERANS AND THE FALLEN SHE WORKED SIDE BY SIDE FBI AGENTS BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FROM JUNK SICK COPS TO SAVE LIVES HER IDENTITY EXPOSED KILLERS CONSTANTLY THREATENING HER LIFE IDENTITY THIEVES PERPUTRATING FRAUD AGAINST HER SHE CONTACTED THE FBI CRISIS CRISIS CRISIS HER HOME WAS BROKEN INTO FEARING FIR HER SAFETY SHE JUST NEEDED TO END THE SUFFERINGTHIS LED TO HER FEELING SHE HAD NO CHOICE MONTHS YEARS SHE REACHED OUT WRITING IN A JOURNALING THERAPY PSCHIATRIST MEDICATIONS THE THREATS WERE OVERWHELMING SHE CLOSED THE SHOWER DOOR TAKEN AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF PRESCRIPTION PILLS WITH A BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE TURNED ON HER FAVORITE SONG SILENCE SHE WAS LATER FOUND DECEASED SHE LOVED WRITING POETRY CHILDREN BOOKS GARDENING SINGING IN THE CHIOR HER CHURCH FAMILY SHE ADORED MUSIC DANCING WATCHING WILD LIFE PLANTING FLOWERS PLANTS PRAYERS HEALING THE NEED TO WRITE MY OWN EULOGY IN CASE I'M RAN OFF THE ROAD POISONED ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT MY HEART IS RACING EVERYDAY I TRY ANDBTALK MYSELF OUT OF SUICIDE KNOWING ITS THE ONLY WAY TO BE FREE FROM MY STALKER MY IMPOSTER SOMETIMES I IMAGINE HER TAKING MY TOMB STONE THAT EVEN IN DEATH SHE'LL STILL BE IMPERSONATING ME FROM MY GRAVE
THANK YOU LORD FOR PICKING ME UP AGAIN GIVING ME PURPOSE TO GO ON LIVING ALSO GIVING ME THE CLARITY OF HOW TO ABORT THIS ONGOING TERROR UPON ME I KNOW HOW TO STOP IT NOW GOD BLESS THE CRISIS TEAM
GOD BLESS AMERICA
a cog in the wheel and a log on the fire
of dreams I hallucinate unless the days
are visions of sleepless delusions of truth
its real and surreal when nights close in
I used to be a knight in shining armour
kissing the princess after conquests won
life matured and dreams changed their way
I became chipped wood shaved into pieces
abrasions of a sculpture unfit for purpose
a brigade of chainsaws stunted my growth
the forester ruled relentlessly and debrided
what was left of saplings and torn offshoots
roots failed to spring up from the underworld
weeds’ thorns cut deep into vulnerable skin
and festering wounds oozed poison at will
one day however a creek crept up from below
viscous tears gave me a springboard from arrest
I plunged in slow motion to follow the stream
when I reached the ocean I feared to submerge
too vicious were tides and the surf sucked me in
drowned me but spat me out ‘return to sender’
still dreaming I built a beach hut by a rock pool
drift wood sea shells and white flag of surrender
octopus’ arms released me to become a dolphin
no more do I have to save the world on my own
because a small marine fairy liked my abode
fixed my anchor with love passion and kindness
the sand quakes and spray caresses our bodies
embraces night terrors adopts them as friends
for honest companions can weather the storm
14th April 2021
My Best Mechanical Friend
You pester me with the slightest errors.
You bing and bong
Giving me night terrors.
I want drive along
And not listen to musical scarers.
It’s three degrees and you let me know.
You shout at me.
And then you show
On the dash a disaster ahead
And you bing and bong
While but nothing is said.
You’re a lovely car I wouldn’t swap.
I just want the bings and bongs to stop.
Let me drive in blissful peace.
And not steer while grinding my teeth.
An eighties car that’s what I need.
It doesn’t have feelings, it doesn’t bleed.
It’ll carry on until it drops.
It won’t flash and bleep if a tyre pops.
Then I drive you just one more day
The sun is shining, so beeps are okay.
David Cox 23/04/24
Dreams come clearly as I lie in my bed,
thinking of the creatures alive below me.
I cautiously draw up the comforter edge.
Beneath the mattress,
beneath the sheets,
beneath the platform,
I see them and withdraw quickly.
They are there!
The demons,
the Daimos,
the creatures that scream in my nightmares.
Two of them, living in the dark, dankness under me.
I feel them watching, always watching.
In daylight I gather my courage and chase them,
but they are too quick and simply scurry away into the shadows.
At night they chase me, climbing beneath the covers on my bed,
gently tickling my legs and sniffing my fingers,
just to remind me that they are always there,
always watching, always ready to pounce,
leaving fluffs of demon mane entangling me as I sleep.
If I sleep.
Sleep comes more scarcely each agonizing night.
In my night terrors I open my eyes and see them upon my chest,
their eyes staring
their ears listening,
their long teeth gnashing,
as I feel their warm breath,
slowly, exhaling in my face, teasing me.
They know there is nothing I can do.
My limbs ridged in sleep paralysis,
they taunt me.
My only desire is to rid myself of their presence
and the fear.
Beings of the night, hiding from the sun,
silent and ominous in their ubiety.
I look again and there they remain,
moving with each wisp of breeze.
The horrid sight I see.
The mesmerizing dance of my abhorrent dust bunnies.
09/04/2024
I tried to smoke away the pain,
Rolled it into a blunt and lit it.
I breathe it all in to feel something,
I blow out to release the suffering.
Too anxious for my own good,
I pop a pill every now and then.
The pills stop me from overthinking,
They give me a moment of peace.
I wish I could turn my thoughts
Into alcoholic shots.
I wanna black out from my thoughts,
Forget them and wake up hungover.
Let me crush up my bad memories,
And snort them with my diary pages.
Replace those bad moments with
The good ones I recreated with drugs.
These night terrors don’t stop at sunset,
?And the clock hasn’t even struck 12 yet.
I’ll take my dose of Vivarin,
And fight the demon that’s appearing.
My body can’t hold up the abuse,
Each time I’m down in the blues.
I’ll try to get high off my own pain,
I’ll use anything to stimulate my brain.
I promise next time I won’t overdose,
Even if that’s what I feel like doing the most.
Most people notice my sunny disposition,
one that can cause blindness & irreparable skin damage.
They remark on the fact that all of my poetry
is so cheerful and positive,
wonder how a person who finds everything so funny,
could ever be sad about anything.
But what they don't know is that,
I, like most other people,
have encountered my fair share of difficulty.
How my brain is an inhospitable residence
I only stay in because I was forced to make my home there.
However, what goes on behind closed doors
remains a mystery to the ignorant.
As a child, I laid prone on the floor,
organizing my toy cars,
and later, books on a shelf.
Flying into a frenzy when someone messed them up;
invariably causing more disorder in my wake.
Anxious moments spent, gnawing on fingers & toes,
nails chewed off into jagged calcium crescents.
Nervous air-drumming when I'm writing or stressed,
or my bouncing knee when I'm patient or
trying to quickly get through a book.
Not so fond memories of standing alone in corners,
away from the crowd,
when having confidence was an unrealized
pipe-dream I feverishly entertained.
No man's an island,
but I've been a peninsula
who took pleasure in his eroding shores.
What normal kid talks to himself and has night terrors?
What 6th grader has an identity crisis,
especially to the extent of believing he doesn't exist or
is incapable of going back to a way of being
that made him comfortable;
how he felt like a stranger to himself, family, and friends?
The weight of depression straddled me to the point that I
wished for a broken leg like a horse running the gauntlet.
Warnings of ed up family members--
therapists, mental institutions, lives of reclusion...
how close I ran the risk of becoming like them.
But, at least, I have the perfect conditions for making art.
Even if weird thoughts sometimes strike at inconvenient moments...
I wouldn't wish being normal
on my worst enemy,
because I once wished it on myself,
and I've finally realized I can use my tendencies to my benefit.
Ghosts glide on the highway to heaven in gay abandon
On Halloween’s starless night, in a limbo state they dance
From Purgatory they haunt with a vengeance in their eternity
In angst night terrors they cast to all for their eternity
Mortals beware the punishment with all hope abandoned
Enchanting their wispy shapes glow in oblivion’s dance
We listen to the song of lament, with spirits in mind we dance
Requiem from the dead chanting in the abyss for all eternity
Dia De Los Muertos, we celebrate the dead, with no abandon
In eternal abandon, a haunting melody, a soulful dance
Restless sleep triggers delusional dreams,
that your beleaguered brain surrenders to.
And from night terrors, you awake to screams
for it feels so real; you think it's true
that spectral shadows are pursuing you,
and powerless; there's nothing you can do.
Though safe in bed, you feel you're in peril,
unable to dispel feelings of dread.
It's like finding your dog has gone feral,
and you're not sure if it's alive or dead.
Your feet tangled in the sheets of your bed
as it chases you, growling, to be fed.
Anxiety rises, reaching its peak,
while your heart mercilessly pounds your chest.
You feel scared, disoriented, and weak;
imprisoned in a nightmare you detest,
unable to wake, though you try your best;
panic, ensuring that you'll get no rest.
Scary night terrors often make you cry,
cause you genuinely think you will die.