Gobble, Fucking Gobble.

I guess sometimes my nightmares must consist of things that directly tie into my dwindling sense of motherhood; as, there are mornings when I wake up feeling deeply wounded by this element of my irretrievably haunting visits to the realm of dreamland. This experience, when it happens, is enough to have me in full-blown tears of grief and devastation before my bare feet even touch the cold wood of the floor. There are so many sensations and notions attached to these mornings (thank Gods they are few and far between) that it quickly becomes difficult, if not impossible, to process any of them…they just sit there on the stagnant surface of my consciousness, too blurred and ambiguous to get my head or hands around. I guess today, I am thankful that these nights do not catch me slippin’ all too often…because when they do, I pay for it for a few days afterward.

Happy Turkey Day, y’all.

 

Phantom Stitches.

Somebody taps a chisel,

into a phantom nerve end,

my body racks and wriggles,

as I wake up screaming again,

somebody drives a freight-train,

through thinly-laid dreamscape,

somebody else is using my name,

and handing out my handshake,

someone is chasing me constantly,

anytime I look his face is somewhere,

like a silent horror that’s stalking me,

with a presence that’s everywhere,

somebody rips up the stitches,

the sound of Velcro against my screams,

the scenery changes and switches,

but the stitches are ripped out unfailingly,

somebody please tell me,

this isn’t the best of recovery,

that spending more time in therapy,

will allow the stitches to dissolve naturally.

 

Safe Place.

Used to dream of giggly things,

floating eternally in ecstasy,

where I fell asleep,

tucked safely beneath,

warm blankets of false securities,

but the ugliness,

of all of this,

wasn’t a truth I wanted to see,

a most unforgettable,

though highly regrettable,

bite mark in my history,

Used to dream of something new,

the future brightened behind you,

the shine of sun and star,

captured in a Mason’s jar,

kept in lieu to remind anew,

but the emptiness,

elusiveness,

leaves me yearning for somewhere safe to sleep.

 

Wobble.

Woke up again this way,

my groggy mind,

already confined,

to a maelstrom’s disarray;

and I snarl at the new day,

looking ahead,

I’m unexcited,

by the prospects in my face,

oh, how I hate this place,

not my environment,

but my own sentiment,

a land of spiritual waste,

I can’t easily rinse out the taste,

this kind of day,

gets wasted away,

while I try to kick-start my brain,

a task that is always in vain,

it shakes things up,

it fucks me up,

it makes me feel so helpless again,

and supposedly, I’m on the mend,

this is “progress”,

but I confess,

every day like today does me in.

 

 

Wake-up Call.

I am plagued by “night terrors” in a bad way sometimes; and seemingly at random. Of course, nothing is at random when it comes to the intricacies of the human psyche, however…this, I know. This morning, I awoke with the layer of jello-like sweat from head to toe, the image still singed freshly into my mind, my heart pounding as if it will come right through my aching rib-cage. I look around me in complete confusion and disarray, unsure at first which direction to swing my fists in – so I just swing wildly around me in frustration.

The strange man whom I had just watched slide a knife into my daughter’s head as she screamed bloody murder was nowhere to be found in my room; nor was my daughter of course.

This was at 5:49am and my skin stills crawls; my heart still hurts itself as it thumps against my chest; my mind still searches for someone to receive my wrath and vengeance, someone to protect or rescue.

I fucking hate it.

Open-Ended Places.

I dreamed again last night
of your younger life
of visions I saw
when things were alright
when the future ahead
was laid out, bathed in light
and the time hadn’t yet come
to hold my own defeat tight
I dreamed of open ended places
where anything stood possible
in its own living right
I dreamed again of nothing
but bathing you in sunlight
and opening the doors
that you’ve kept closed in life
I dreamed again of motherhood
in a victorious bond held high
I dreamed of never knowing you
as you’ve come to slice my pride
I dreamed again of rescuing you
from the darkness where you reside
and redressing wounds, unhealed
wiping blood from those beautiful eyes
I dreamed again of your newborn face
and all the promise inside if your smile
I awoke on fire and screaming aloud
a visit from my long-lost child.

Scared.

I guess it’s good that I can’t recall the nightmares I have after I awaken from them; they are bad enough to often already have me in tears upon waking for the first time for the day – and I don’t mean like a few little snuffles either – I mean like full-blown

“I’m upset as hell and can’t stop crying and don’t even know why”.

I’m a fucking trainwreck
I’m a fucking headcase
I wake up in the morning and I’m sobbing and scared and the worst part about it is that I can’t even put my finger on WHAT I’m so afraid of or WHO. I just FEEL SCARED.