Seizure

on a cold winter day,

frigid frost formed and manifestations of decay enter a

window, bordered in porcelain of gray; a

monochrome-like portrait suspended in time whose

passing is told only by flickering dances of a flame of

the cinnamon-scented candle decorating this frame;

the soft beams of ruination illuminate

a similar scene of dread opposite

to the windowsill.

feeble and fraught is the fetus figure that lies,

as if frozen, atop a wrought carpet,

craving poison; a body that aches, a body that cries;

its tremors shrouded under a blanket by

which its last semblance of warmth is granted;

twisted, pale, open-mouthed and wry,

is the face from which a shallow breathing

emanates, perpetuating as a looping sigh;

all senses fail as this sapping mind

resists the pain, desperate to shelter and hide

projecting its perception to the frost outside;

but an inexorable force pulls it inside;

it is stripped of all hope and pride

as a memory replays:

"youll overcome this, youll be okay"

banalities and fallacies i see through,

ill always nod in vanity concealing whats true

my facade serves a purpose:

i keep okay by lying to myself and you,

and, besides, i fear my neurosis will drive

you away, no one likes feelings of blue...

on the carpet, chills seep in waves,

electrical pulses reverberate,

a piercing brilliant light terminates

my consciousness; it all fades

i am yet again pulled inside where my demons await

#2023