Poetry

The Echo

Photo: Krista Mangulsone. CC0/Public Domain license.
Photo: Krista Mangulsone.
CC0/Public Domain license.

Nightmares from when I was 6 years old
return to terrorize me at twenty
and I keep discovering little things
that might mean more.

I begin to realize the intricacies,
hearing them whispering on the streets
and a news report in my head
reporting everything I’m doing.

Specters of people invade my room,
searching, sneaking, stealing,
taunting, tormenting, torturing,
and then fading into thin air.

Tell my doctor and he sends me
where I can’t wear shoe-laces,
or smoke a cigarette outside designated times.
They pass out pills, make me forget I exist.

And my body seems so far away
as memories turn to shadows and fade
and soon all that’s left is
the echo of a soul screaming out
for deliverance.