Dark Alice Comes to Call
By FlatDaddy
She gnaws
jaws and claws
like silver to a vampire
burning fire
ripping, tearing through my back
down my leg nerves ripped from deep inside
screaming, seeming like I’m dreaming
so damned unreal
skin, muscles bones
breaking, taking me to places
no man ever has been or wants to be
please god oh god yes god
I CALL ON GOD!
to make her stop! —
on fallen knees my pleas
“Jesus! God Mohammed Budda ANYONE!” scorch my lungs
and burn the very air
my hair must be on fire
the screams awake the house the block the universe
must know must see me writhing on the floor
my body twisted in bizzare tortured ways
sirens wail lights so bright
flashing in the night
white coats flapping
soothing voices
“there there” whispered in my ear
hands grasping hot flesh
tears pouring out in waves,
ghostly grey, soaked in sour sweat
needle in at last
firing up my arm
and
slow:
my wife’s stricken face
sails away in clouds of fog
her eyes too large
morphine
drags me
down
at
last.
She’s gone.
“Alice threw the looking glass,”
someone heard me mumble
haunting and chilling with a twist ❤️
Thank you, Crimsin. This is an old piece from my years fighting morphine addiction, given by doctors to treat my pain from an accident. It took twenty years to get free from it completely — and yet I am not free of pain killers. I’ve no choice there. I’m not sure I will keep this posted. It is not me anymore. But thank you for your words, I appreciate them.
Pain here isn’t metaphor — it’s a rabid animal chewing bone, and you let it howl.
Even in the morphine fog, your voice stays feral and human, refusing to die quiet.
Thank you, Thomas; from you, these words mean more. I wasn’t sure if I should let this one out of it’s closet. I think I may take it down after a short stay. It’s like having a hated uncle drop by to see “how things are now,” with a wink. Ya can’t kick him out, that would be rude. And you want him to know he doesn’t scare you anymore. Then you can gladly kick his ass out.
The urgency in this is palpable. The way concepts almost run together in the frantic need. Intense. That’s a good word for it. It feels like PTSD and addiction ripping at the page here. Brilliant but it makes me sad for the man who survived that, and glad that it was in the past
Survival is the key, Willow. No need for sadness. Life is what matters most. And I am VERY glad it was in the past.