His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he openes
His throat to sing
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom
when the early, twilight morning hours kiss my sleep soaked face; the nightmares come back to me in droves. & i wish that i didn't remember because the horror is more than i can bare. & the headache has been here for two weeks now & i need to know when it will leave me alone. i feel like Sisyphus since it never stops. none of it ever fucking stops. [& as many times as i've said it before] i simply do not know how much longer i can keep this God forsaken, crescent moon-shaped guise pasted across my face. it's like maybe they need to see the tears or the grotesque distortions of wrinkled up pain; the blood pouring from my veins or the bruises across my vital organs. maybe that is the only way because inside [& in the nightmares] i am screaming 'this can't be fucking real, perhaps i just need a God damned doctor.' only when i think about it, we all know that i've seen them all & they've not helped a bit.
& again i'm at a loss. i am trapped in an eternal state of pain, falsehood, & longing for a time & place; any other time & place. anything but this [won't someone help me, please?]