Me, a poet?

I am my mothers child

I am the missing piece of the jigsaw

the gap in the picture perfect

family portrait.

The real beast of burden,

the itch you cannot scratch.

I am the foetus that lived,

the child whose mother

wished she’d aborted her.

The inconvenience

in an adult relationship.

I am a living herpes infection

the unwanted blister

that rubs you red raw.

The incurable disease

that makes you suffer day and night.

I am the inflamed skin

around a rotting scab,

ugly and infuriating.

The madden rash that

never seems to stop spreading.

I am my mother’s child.

Disturbed

Every night she says her prayers
and lays her head to sleep,
her rest disturbed each night too soon
as evil starts to creep.

• 
  
   She wraps herself within her sheets,
  her soul half scared to death,
  to feel so hot upon her neck,
  the demon’s rancid breath.
• 
   Upon the nape he teases her
  and taunts her helpless soul,
  unwillingly she takes him to
  her dream state’s lost control.
• 
  
   There he stalks and chases her
  in terror every night,
  leaving her in torment
  in a constant fight or flight.
• 
  
   And though the morning comes again
  in dawn’s redeeming light,
  but still her dread will grow inside
  to know he waits for night.
   

Nothing left

Negativity infects my brain

blistering me in boils of woefulness.

Hopeless and bleeding

I just lay in my bed

silent;

only the sound of muffled tears escape me.

This is the end of everything

and the start of my demise.

Depression.

I feel so alone

and abandoned by my family.

I have no safe place anymore.

I used to run and hide in my mind

but now it is plagued with demons.

I fall to my knees and pray to God

but my please go unheard;

not even my echoes whisper back.

In silence I sit

for days

because waiting for it to pass

is all I can do.