Thought’s Disease 

Are the visions what they seem?

These tortured figures, creeping torsos,

The shadows in the rafters.

Ghostly foes, screaming saviors,

Should I be afraid?

Fingertips skip up the back of my neck.

Lying here in the icy spots and fog

I watch the woman, swaying slowly to the tick of time.

And the boy, or man (I wouldn’t know), he gloomily takes my hand.

The lonely prisoner of a world he can no longer touch.

The trickster coldly fabricates this constant evil.

The prankster in my skull,

Rolling around in sand and spikes

To the blessing of my fright.

I cover my eyes with water

And feel the killer standing there

In the doorway of my room.

I know he’s waiting for when I open my eyes

And weakly take the blow.

I cover my face

With affectionate blankets and heat

Then peer out from my shelter.

There stands the widowed maid

Patiently surveying my death.

There’s the lad who stands at the gates for me.

There’s the critter somersaulting around the telephone wire.

The flies in my father’s eyes

And the knife in my brother’s pillow.

There’s a demon in my cat

Where it vengefully will strategize command.

Half a body thumps up to the shower curtain

And shakes his beaten head.

My sister mumbles wicked murders as she sleeps,

The child in the wall

That never even weeps.

My mind’s faults linger around me

Knowing that I struggle to overlook them.

Innocently grinning as I cover my head,

Shield myself from the fear I create.

No, no, no, this can’t be right

To lie here every night,

And dream of hollowed eyes.

I wonder, what is reality?