Happy Hour

P r o l o g u e   o f 

a

n i g h t m a r e 

d r e a m e d   o n e

m i s e r a b l e   n i g h t,

a n d   b e c a m e 

r e a l i t y,

a   h o r r o r  s t o r y
i n   t h e   m i n d

o f  t h e

s e n s i t i v e - h e a r t e d...

Slithering whispers
of unparalleled delight
call my name
with sad songs in its voice,
undressing my false emotions
and caressing me,
feverishly
in the dark.
It lingers in shadows
that you nor I
would ever think are there.
It surrounds me.
I try to escape,
but it pulls me in.
It possesses me,
and I can not see.
It hurts me,
but I feel
not a single thing.

...It 

frightens 

me.

Nobody's there,

says the voice again.

They're out to get you.

They're out to kill.

But it steals my screams.

T h e n 

 i t  

s t e a l s  

me.

I become startled,

but then...

it goes away.

The predator in its eyes

feeds anger in mine.

It takes advantage

of my heart,

and fiddles with the inner mechanisms

of my mind

and feeds off the draining energy

of my soul

that seems to be hanging by a thread.

It abuses me.

Never have I felt 

so used

so alone

so unloved

by the voice

that is there

in my head

when I'm down

and it's never there

when I need to cheer up.

Its walls of destruction

are its walls of protection

so no one can break them.
It sought for, it triggers,
it feeds on my pain.

It says, 

"They'll never believe you!"

It's there,

don't you see?

There is this voice

a n d

t h e n 

t h e r e 

i s

me.

But to this moment
no one believes
that fateful day
where the shadows,
and whispers,
and feelings of despair,
the loneliness,
the aching,
the suffocation I felt
because of its presence
manifested into something
bigger than itself.

It goes away,
but then it comes back.
It burns
into my veins,
and I can't seem
to be saved.

Then

you

help

me.

I am freed from its grasp

and you vanquish the  shadow

from under my bed

that's touching my skin,

and making my mind

live in fear of itself.

And I fear sometimes
that I will never escape
the grasp of its hold,
the strength of its might.
I fear sometimes
that I will never be free
from those hands without form
that grope in the night.

©LJ

17 August 2014