Where the Mad One Howls

In the future I’ll meet my past inside a consulting room.
He calls me in and he is him. I sit, he’s someone else.
I cannot bear those eyes that scoop my clumping soul.
Can you put me in a handbag? Please hide my body now.

Is this a dream? A painting of rocks leers at me.
The bookcase bends away. Every book is screaming.
His body is a lion. His words come fast like claws.
I have to find my ankles. I have to stay awake.

A snake is winding up my legs, now scraping down my throat.
I know this is a flashback; my mind is stuffed with shrouds.
My mouth is full of deserts, the camels trample down
my chest, my waist, the deepest place; the catacombs inside.

His body needs a cage. Each time he speaks
the lion circles round to pin me down.
He says I’m safe, he means no harm but still
I hear the funeral bells, the clanging song of death.

Stop turning into him! My ribs are ringed with suffocation.
Why would you eat your child? Why must I swallow flesh?
Why did you take my apple? Can’t you find a mate?
What is this rush of water? How can I end this thrill?
Why is my flesh electric? This isn’t a safe embrace.
How do I stop exploding? My muscles are screaming red.
You split a child in two. This is the way I break.

I came here for his help, to catch these rotten parts.
So shake me down to power and crumble me to dust.
His gentle words seduce me, I loathe a silken touch.
Step on me, your boots are loud. Stamp out all the filth.
Crush me back to virgin worth. Heat me, wake me up.
You are the beast that scares me, you are my only hope.

I am the child divided, I am the mind that cleaves.
I am the heart that hates the world, this is an awful game.
This is the start of nothing, this is the end of days;
Therapy is everything and different and the same.

Published by sarcasticfringehead

I'm an adult survivor of child abuse who documents therapy; a yellow brick road to hell.

13 thoughts on “Where the Mad One Howls

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