Demon Days (Daze)

The midnight sun hangs, teasingly, whispering:
“you're not asleep, but you can't wake up.”
My eyes are shut, but I can glimpse
endless nights and blistering days.
Outside, all is bright, so bright:
raspberry sun against a chocolate sky,
the grass chartreuse, while giant butterflies,
electric, pink and blue, fly in circles.
It all seems like nonsense,
only I know where I am,
and I desire to awaken,
but seemingly cannot,
and silent screams
only make the jade
devil dance.

He is lying beside me, eyes closed, scrutinizing,
mouth closed, snickering, threatening to move
at a magnetic moment, seize the victory.
For now he just waits, waits, watching
the crooked clock. I cry, but no tears flow,
and I scream “No” in my heavy head,
unheard, as I feel him on top
of me once again.

"Oh God no. Not again."

I push back, but there are too many rocks
in my path. I shudder, quietly, accept defeat,
I feel my heart burn tears into my sizzling skin.
Resist. Resist. But my thoughts are no longer
my own and I reply:

"No. Just relinquish,
and all I will have
to bear
is your
scar."

Resist.
Resist.
Relinquish.

The dark devil smiles. He remains asleep,
but he is always present, always amongst
us. Were we so foolish to assume
he could be prudently destroyed?
He is the chip on our shoulders,
the sarcastic response to a liquid lover,
the sequestered silence we endure
while we watch the waking world
around us sing its palpable pain.
We passively respond,
prolonging indifference
and injustice like a white
elephant filling up
an obstinate room.
Yes you. You too.
No one leaves
unscathed.

Somewhere between pious sleep,
and unadorned awakening,
I feel your brazen breath
that used to slumber by my side.
I feel warmth on my neck,
but no one's there.
No one's there.

I resist, strive, pull towards the light,
dash out of this tepid nightmare,
towards wakening, awakening,
but I am alone trapped, trapped,
in this fickle nightmare
of icicle merry-go-rounds:
spinning, spinning,
into a sphere
of madness.



©2012 Michael Wayne Holland