The Hypnotist

Art by Magda Proski

You see, what you want to see, trapped in a narrow tunnel,

You hear, what you want to hear, trying to forget

As the echo in your chamber, seems to be infinite,

So loud, with nowhere to turn for peaceful salvation,

Louder, it seems to grow and vibrate the hollow box,

The walls begin to crawl upwards, on itself, stretching

Back down, towards the familiar self-deprecating pit,

You feel better, in the loneliness that closely surrounds

And presses against you, slowly cutting you, to leech

Out your prolonged existence, to seclude you further

Away from the surface, but this goes unnoticed

Because you still see what you want, as reality

Storms the castle, laughing at the crumbling defences,

But you’ve come to me, sunken into the comforts

Of the enveloping couch, and put your trust in my skills,

You might be aware of all that has eluded your consciousness

For so long, but they’ll stay behind the heavy curtain

With my influence, so you can see and hear, what isn’t there,

And when it begins to resurface, you’ll return

With new demons amongst the ones picking at your scars.

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Left for the Day

The world seems to be mocking me through

This double pane fog, covered by my immobility,

Festering in the inching frost, climbing up my throat,

Drying out, the secreting whisper of warmth,

The sounds emitted by dancing winds, pushing

A blurred island, hosted, by a decaying vampire,

Stretch marks of the swinging pendulum, swoops

A top my brow, cranking closer, as my attention

Bleeds into the veil, softly bouncing

Along the splinter of sanity, so captivating and graceful,

Will she return, as she slipped out through the opening,

The loud hum, of the empty room grows,

Filling my ears, as if I was drowning, gasping

For her, where did she go?

And the outside knows, yet they keep hushed,

As she swings in it’s hammock, keeping her still,

Where did she go?

I lay awake, starring at the flashing light,

Begging the silence to stop, for an echo in my bones,

Where did she go?

Thick strands of her gleam, snuffed out, by the dark,

She’s vanished beyond the stale breath,

Maybe she’ll return with the sun.

Too Many Open Tabs

image

Late at night, as I peruse my thoughts
And jump, from idea to Wonderland
Escaping narrowly into another tab,
Finding myself in a distant picture,
Foreign steps, into a calm river
And out into the cold, with no blanket
Except for the falling sky, as I dart
To an already traveled road, reviewing
What I have learned, it is what I have forgotten,
Too many open sources, without any retention,
As I continue to sift my way out of swallow
And into another trap, flying to the bottom,
What was I thinking about?
Where has my mind drifted to?
A year in the sun, lost on an island
With the company of my own insomnia.

©DorianPoe2016