The Return

 

It is a familiar phantom,

Folding its velveteen wings around me

In a cuddle comforting and claustrophobic.

It is a surging storm,

Dark and distantly rumbling

As the clouds creep ever closer in my mind.

It is a crepuscular chasm,

Where icy cold obsidian depths

Scream back the echoes of the pain in my heart.

It is a fearsome flood,

Battling to keep my head above ink black waves

As the undertow drags me into the fathoms.

It is a discordant ditty,

A clashing cacophony of sharps and flats

That brings my brain to the brink of insanity.

It is a petrifying precipice,

Perched atop a towering cliff face

As whipping, whistling winds urge me to plunge.

It is a hardened hunter,

An insatiable and sinister stalker

Relentlessly pursuing me with nowhere to escape.

It is a concealed cavity,

The jagged hole of isolation and loneliness

Where none may enter but I.

It is a formidable foe,

Internal shadows

Without a physical form to fight.

It is all-consuming, and now,

It has returned.

Emma H, 25/11/2016, aged 25

 

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