tagNon-Erotic PoetryBehind the Wall

Behind the Wall


Behind the Wall
By D.E. Johnson

Its early morning,
I am laying among broken glass,
my blood covers the walls,
and bottles lie everywhere on my floor.

My vision is blackened,
and my head throbs as I rise.
I remember flashes of pain and rage,
as I tore my room apart.

My hands are swollen,
covered in red,
and my feet and legs have been
 sliced by shards of glass.

The early morning sun,
it shines through my window,
like a beacon
in my eternal night.

Deep inside I sense a void,
my mind is numb,
and my body is sore,
but I get up off the floor,
and survey what is mine....

I gaze down thoughtfully at my hands,
they glisten in the light
as tiny shards of glass
reflect the sun’s rays.

My head throbs in pain,
but I push my discomfort aside,
and force my body to walk,
ignoring the pain in my feet.

My movement reopens my wounds,
and I leave bloody tracks across the floor.
I grip the door to my bathroom,
and pause to notice the red stains thereon.

I open the door and stumble inside,
turning on my shower,
undressing myself,
and then I stand beneath the hot water.

The water burns,
but I use the sensation to clear my mind.
The touch of soap causes me to curse,
when I scrub the bloody cuts.

My hands ache,
but my will they obey,
and so I wash away the blood,
and clean away the stains.

I can vaguely remember the mindless rage,
the agony that ripped forth from inside,
the pain that brought forth the angry beast,
and lay waste to my life.

My anger I encased,
deep inside,
where no one could find,
and so I was protected from it.

But depression weakened my will,
and the alcohol weakened me still.
‘Til I could no longer hide,
from the beast I’d trapped inside.

All at once,
all the pains I’d kept inside,
broke out,
and I couldn’t keep myself in check.

The agony made me weak,
and the weakness made me afraid,
and the fear made me angry,
and the anger raged inside.

Questions I’ve asked,
to which I have no answers.

Dreams I’ve had,
which were cast aside.

And last night I decided to break free,
and to destroy the chains that bound me.
My TV was smashed,
my computer destroyed.

I ripped through my room,
like a plague of destruction,
nothing I did not touch,
or leave unstained by my blood.

The monster inside tore down the walls,
the walls I had built about my mind,
to hold my rage in check,
but now those walls are gone.

I kept hitting my CD player ‘til is was junk,
and then I smashed all my portraits;
hardly noticing that,
as I raged,
I felt no pain,
not even inside.

The anger fed upon itself,
and so I was trapped behind my wall,
as the beast I’d set free raged on;
Killing me on the outside.

Trapped and helpless,
I could only scream
as the beast killed
the last vestiges
that were me.

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