Dear : Wicked Mind

By An Ode to Creativity Blog - January 04, 2021

Dear. Wicked Mind

A boy was hidden in cobweb 
cracks of my mind. 
He liked to created dead ends 
and make me play with the thought:
 I am no hero and I never was.

The thought was a yarn ball 
it unraveled and  turned into a  
revolver, the chamber was full.

I shoot, but the boy with 
midnight eyes and
pulps like silver stars was  
a fragment of a hallucination.

I was the target that filled 
themselves with shotgun holes.

“Stop fighting, you won’t win.” 
 His voice like 
branches scraping off 
each other’s bark.


Both of us looked up. 
The roof of my mind 
had fractured. 
jigsaw edges lined each side.

He smiled with crooked 
teeth like gravestone 
markers placed  by people 
that didn’t care.


Fingers brushed my face
they traced a fracture that formed
 down my right eye and around my check. 
The cracks bleed and smaller 
ones entwined with flesh.   

“I’m breaking you. I’m winning this fight.” 
The boy mocked, but fingers 
traced glass cut edges.

“You’re wrong.
You’re not winning this fight. 
This fracture is proof that I 
haven’t been fighting back 
as much as I should.
I won’t let you, 
my dear, wicked mind consume me.”

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