A silent hymn swarms the senses
Sensations charged, bloods too swift
Memory poisoned, weary of pretences
With each sharp point a full body lift.
Awake fever cold, lips texture of slate
Rejects visual help, deny the sound
Bruises new, a pure circular shape
Flakiness of skin, ankles once bound
Real or a film of fiction
Inspect body, stifle a scream
Escape attempts creates harm friction
Lesions made, stain skin at the seam.
Dream of scenarios, body cuffed tight
Butterfly effect, wings have swung
A nightmare which overlaps the night
Sour taste to mouth, intrusion in lung
Cloaked a stranger, calls a name
Intimate outlines with empty stares
Swear words alluded through shame
Convulsing body pulls skin to tear.
Melt through sheets as sweat gives way
Escape plan hatched, float through floors
Arms stretched out to slink away
Reality bites down, home to four walls
Travel shift to outside ward
Undeniably a dream to recognise
A body concealed from open doors
Head slips to reveal the disguise.
Alive in bed or dead where I stand
A premonition gift, given to hear
Trust not to cry off a helping hand
An awakening lust, the minds clear
Fear defends the external choice
Bittersweet to white flag this race
For now someone else speaks my voice
Though the ceiling still reflects my face.
Chest tight by weight of heaving
Already howled the meltdown song
Truth hits quiet, no prizes for leaving
To dampen my mind, this is where I belong.
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Chris Chant Poetry 