I'm splintering, fracturing. The monster inside me is winning the war. The room tilts, everything is bright, a sterile white, the shadows only spots that swim lazily across my eyelids when I close my eyes. I close my eyes too often now. The light is blinding, the absence of shapes confuses me. The couch, the walls, the Christmas tree still up in July. All blend into the brightness that pulses. This is not a drunken poem. I am not an alcoholic. I don't sit alone by my phone waiting for texts that never come. I am not a broken woman. This is not a shattered heart.
late night and anger flashes fast as lightning, a steady staccato like a strobe light unnerving and disorienting I am left with spots in my vision left reeling and recoiling damaged and distressed I fight the demons punching and kicking pushing back against the fear that the nightmares inside me will win late night and the monsters break their chains, fierce and teethed with talons and fangs they tear into me and all I can do is keep fighting this battle that blasts like thunder inside my mind