A dark poem of slipping, mind, and visions, holding fear, fracture and survival in view.
March 12, 2004Early Notebooks
A tour of hell slipping through my mind,
visions twisted, shadows intertwined.
Rowing against the thunder’s roar,
a relentless storm that shakes my core.
Beckoning cries echo in the night,
fighting the darkness, clinging to light.
Tides of torment pull me deep,
a haunting journey where shadows creep.
Every stroke, a struggle to survive,
against the currents that eat me alive.
Thunder calls, but I won’t fall—
I’ll row through this madness, through it all.
Yet the whispers beckon, pleading and dire,
dragging me closer to the fire.
But in the depths, where demons dwell,
I fight my way out of this private hell.
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