One Drink

A tiny little pill
lies still,
Invisible in the bubbles
as they pass my lips,
Then thunder
A jolt as it slams into my brain,
The pain,
I don’t understand,
I only had one drink,
Why can’t I think?
The lights are too bright,
And the music,
Its baseline has no end,
Where are my friends?

A car, a locked door.
Where am I?
Have I been here before?
Why can’t I get out?
Who is he?
The man in red next to me?
Can’t he hear me plead?
A voice now,
From outside my mind,
Is it mine?
It begs “let me go”
Can he hear it though?
Am I dead?
Oh my head!
Where are we going?
I want to go home,
The thump in my dome
is excruciating now,
I can’t see,
I can barely breathe,
Why is he next to me
touching my knee?

A room now,
A room with a bed,
It still makes no sense in my head,
Oh my head!
This isn’t my house…
The man, the man in the red,
He’s breathing on my neck,
Am I lying down?
I smell the beer on his breath,
Feel the breath on my hair,
Why is he touching me down there?
Why can’t I scream?
Is this a dream?
Then a tearing pain between my legs,
My arms and legs are dead,
Am I only fighting in my head?
Oh my head!
Why won’t it stop?
When will it end?
And then…
Then he is gone,
I see the dawn,
It is over I think,
In a blink,
After just one drink.

I feel sick.

Angel at the Gates

Heaven opened it’s gates and God called
for our angel to find her way home,
A chorus rang out through our world,
And she passed, finding peace never known.

Then our angel, she stopped at the gates,
She paused there with one step to go,
She rested her hand on her heart
and looked back at our world here below.

Two tears fell and crept down her face,
Two tears purer than ever she’d cried:
One of joy at the beauty ahead,
One of sorrow for those left behind.

As the gates swung and beckoned her in,
She made a promise to all those she had loved
and to all those who’d loved her in life:
She’d eternally watch over from above.

So although our pain at her passing is great,
Though, in body, she’s no longer here,
We find comfort in the thought that, in spirit,
Our angel will always be near.

Spoils of War

I just can’t,
I’m torn between two halves of my heart:
The Me who is scarred
and my future afar;
Who I could be and who I was from the start.

I am filled to the brim
with the love that these two players are fighting to win,
A love that is pure and as sure as is sin,
But is buried within,
Shying away from the war of its skin,
A flesh and a mind try not to give in,
As a heart so tattered and worn to begin
cries “Romance or kin?”

And now it is dark,
I cannot see who you are,
My victor, the one who has looted my heart,
And torn me apart,
Was it worth it? As you now only have half
And I am marred
Forever scarred

Two Hundred Miles

It took two hundred miles for my heart to heal
Two hundred miles to forget what I feel

The first mile I held you and wouldn’t let go
To mile forty I refused believe it was so

By mile eighty I hated you and all we had been
I cursed you with loathsome abhorrence extreme

After one hundred miles I begged, “don’t break my heart,
If you just say you love me we can make a fresh start”
Twenty miles more and I was down on my knees
Pained from the strain of my frustrated pleas

It was one hundred and sixty miles when I hit
The most hollow and emptiest bottomless pit
Despair and depression of the most profound kind
Numbness so powerful it captured my mind
I would lay there just staring, no more tears could I shed
For the bitterness consumed me, my soul torn to shreds
One seventy, one eighty, one ninety went by
The worthlessness stayed until one ninety nine

Then two hundred and I managed to catch a quick breath
The air filled my lungs to an incredible depth
The rush was a gust of refreshment untold
I felt the strength grab me, the peace taking hold
And at once I was calm, I was at peace with the fact
You hurt me, you left me, and you aren’t coming back
I am no longer yours, nor are you mine
I accept that it’s over and I’ll be just fine

Broken Spirits

I move as a maid amongst the fallen,
I hear them calling,
Reaching out and stalling,
And I have no strength to haul them,
As I myself am crawling.

In this land of the broken,
Where tragedies lie unspoken,
Demons rend their spirits open,
Yet still they wait there hoping
for a saviour to unyoke them.

But it is not me.
I too am on my knees,
I am united in their pleas
And still they do not see…

It is not me.


Photo Credit: “Girl Enjoying Freedom in a Wasteland” by macinivnw – Deviant Art

Poetry by Niobe Malcolm Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved

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