Just A Dream
The vile’s are filling from the back of my knee.
One full of life, a gifted excretion,
the other full of poison, waiting to take the former’s place.
I am set out to chill. Overnight. Alone.
I don’t mind except that the
sounds become so loud
and all the movements in all the world
become heavy like a rock.
I used to dream that I stepped out upon
the softest land,
soaking comfort in through my pores.
How quickly the dead tree branches would poke
up and stab me at from
beneath the peaceful ground.
I used to dream, but now silence
sharpens itself in my ear.
It is a carved loneliness, perhaps from
the other side of the grave
where the ones I love have finally made room
to love me back.
This side of life ties me to boulders and
smashes my ankles with hammers.
My bone fragments roam about
under my skin
wondering where they belong.
They cry out to me, but I
do not know where they go.
They are just fragments,
and I am just a dream.
Posted on January 5, 2013, in Poetry and tagged anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, BPD, death, Depression, detachment, Dreams, fear, ghosts, identity disorders, Literature, loneliness, mental illness, poetry, psychosis, self identity, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 9 Comments.