clinical
Category: Poems
Current mood:  nauseated

Waking up is the first step in the process of my decomposition, 

and broad daylight is the most gracious host to recurring nightmares.

It’s all in my head

It’s all in my head

It’s all in my head. 

(There’s nothing f***ing wrong with me.)

Words mold beneath my skin, threatening to eat through my flesh, down to my bones.

(Nobody seems to notice the stench of rotting meat.)

It’s all in my head.

It’s all in my head.

(Don’t tell me there’s something wrong with me. I don’t want your f***ing pity.)

In my mind, a blight of locusts lays waste 

To my passion, 

My resilience. 

It’s unclear if the crops will grow back.

(Why is everything so loud?)

It’s all in my head. 

It’s all in my head. 

(I’m so f***ing weak.)

Intrusive thoughts, obtrusive feelings, pile up,

Choking me, drowning me, as my lungs fill with polluted water. 

(Nobody seems to hear my hacking and coughing.)

It’s all in my head.

It’s all in my head

(Why can’t I f***ing do anything? I need to do something.)

The evening brings with it a false expectation of regeneration.

With torpor quickly approaching, my final thought makes itself known. 

Prometheus - his perpetual torment, chained upon a mountain to waste away. 

Sleep engulfs this brain.

This prison.

My judge. 

My jury. 

(My executioner?)

Enough is enough. 

Enough is enough. 

(Enough is enough.)

It’s all in my head. 

There’s nothing wrong. 

(There’s something wrong.)