Psychosis

I should’ve known by
the room I painted black–
Space Black, it was called–
coats and coats I layered
over the wallpaper.
I should’ve known by
the dead poets hanging
in black space, as with
scraps of black words
tacked up in clusters–
the strangest lyrics I could find.
I should’ve known by
the unusual fever in my
newly gutless scribblings–
the nihilistic retributes–
that left nothing but my eyes
hollow and the bleeding pens.
I should’ve known by
how I dreaded dawn, only
alive at night, awake to
stop the voices; added black curtains.
But I really should’ve known by
the way everyone slipped into
one oil painting–dissolving and
never able to reach me–
that something
something
to save me
was too late.

5 thoughts on “Psychosis

  1. The introspective revolution that fades into abyss, by examining and identifying that I am just like those that were before me. A premeditated psychosis that closes all doors to normalcy and terminal suffering that can not be avoided. very tangible and forbidden.

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  2. This poem really hits me in heart and gut. I’m there with you, in that black room. I know about dreading dawn, battling with inner demons. But, it appears to me that when you write about this, you claim your power over it– this in my experience is a brave, worthy and lifelong pursuit– brava! xxJenne’

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    1. Thanks for reading and commenting, Jenne. I’m glad it reached you–that private matter we want to scream about. But you’re absolutely right–writing it out gives you your power back, making you able to set the ick down. Thanks for sharing!
      Amy

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  3. writing does this for me too. It may not always take me out of the black room when I am there, but at least it gives me something to do until morning arrives…great write! I really liked the oil painting metaphor, it gave me chills and I know exactly what you mean – perfect!

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