FicWad

Quick A/N: I have no idea if this is considered poetry or not. I could've easily made it prose, but I didn't want to lose the choppy, short narration or bursts of the character's thoughts. Just wanted that as a warning, since quite a few people have noted that it doesn't really fit the style of most poetry.

--

Blankly staring eyes
-Don't look don't look can't look NO-
Focused on the ruddy mud,
Avoiding the skeletal mirror-trees of memories that
Stab the churning, black clouds of the sky with their high reaching branches of glass-shards.

But for a glint of glass,
The eyes betray
-NO NO NO DON'T CAN'T LOOK STOP!-
Their owner.

A swirling, rushing memory
-taunting shame screaming pain THE PAIN-
Chaotic emotion
-Oh no no no
STOP IT STOP IT LET ME BE JUST MAKE IT STOP!-

Freed, shaking, gasping
-It's over watch out could happen again DO NOT LOOK-
Wide, shocked eyes mistakenly wandering
-NO NO NO FOCUS LISTEN DON'T-

And then the reflection.

Pale, skeletal,
-like the trees the trees the horrible trees-
Cold, shaking, utterly corpselike,
-I should be dead why aren't I dead why can't I DIE-

Blissful blackness,
Hollow, trembling hands covering wide eyes
-It's gone gone gone doesn't matter don't think it's okay now-

But the sanctuary is soon invaded,
Memories worming through eyelids
-WHY WHY WHY I'M NOT LOOKING IT SHOULDN'T BE HAPPENING
I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER---

Hands back around knees,
Eyes open, darting around the -bloodstained?- ground,
Finally safe,
If only for a few moments.

Trembling lips open,
Rusty vocal cords quiver,
Leaving a hoarse whisper to hang unnaturally in
The tainted space-

"Please, just let me out of here..."

I don't want to be locked in my mind anymore...

--

A/N: And this, ladies and gentlemen (XD Probably more like lady and gentleman, given the fact that not many people ever really see my stories/poetry), is my most recent work of poetry (? Or whatever you'd call this), and the only poetry that has been written for fun. Well, it was mostly because I started randomly thinking about trees of mirror shards on the bus. I don't know how it wound up transforming into /this/, but I still like it. And, for any Stephen King fans reading this, yes, the style he sometimes uses in which people's thoughts interject the narration influenced this poem by quite a bit. But I guess this is mostly a piece on insanity in general.

Reviews/criticism keep me away from suicide~ (I'm kidding, of course. But still, you never know. XP) And thanks to everyone who bothered to read this!

(And this was completely evil when it came to HTML. Seriously.)