Leandrea Wadford

Leandrea Wadford Poems

The Best Poem Of Leandrea Wadford

Dejavu

I am also a writer, I just freelance mostly depends on mood. Something I wrote while I was on a dark place in my life. It's called Dejavu.

I am writing a note to help remind me, of a time my pain does not find me.
A time I know will come to soon so when it does, I want my pain to resume.
For the ones that turned and left me standing with empty arms, thoughts and emotions abandoned. Explanations were useless and letters were empty, they were gone with a beat as fast as their entry. This place I am sure I have been here before, the ache that swallows me as I reach for the door.

I reach for the knob to enter this nightmare. My hands, legs, my whole body shatters.

My mind is unsteady as calamity is heading, the twist of the door my body is sweating.

There is one thing for certain as I try to be ready for what I am about to discover will be morbid and deathly.

I release the door from my shaking right hand and can still hear it chattering in the empty room where I stand.

As I squint through my eyes at the room I discovered, it was no such thing just dark surrounding me like night that hovered. As I release my fear and open my eyes, I see something else distant for miles.

There is no floors, walls or ceiling, just an emptiness that is sure to consume me.

I start seeing images uncontrolably, the source is unknown to me.

The images are people I use to know that I havn't seen in years and the sadness that comes over me as I now await in tears. The images of me, suprising as they seem, range through the years with people next to me. The faces of them are unclear but I know who they are from the sharp intensive pain that I feel in my heart.

Mystified by this space that I now have found, I feel my hands but can't move them somehow they are bound. The object moving nearer. Like a bad dream I cant escape, The object seems as though it has a frame.

The pictures are slowly rolling now in intervals it seems, only stopping at the clear ones that havoc more pain which is intolerable to me.
They are pictures from my past, people that left me abandoned, they range from our encounter to a painful seperation. Their faces become more clear as the images I studied, as I stuck on one that kept changing but it was horrifyingly bloody.

The object nears I unmistakably determined it was not a picture but a mirror.
The image was worse than I could have ever imagined.
It began to show me the images I have seen in my head, the people that I loved and then their unpleasant deaths.
As the pictures started swirling like a whirlwind out of control, I grasped another image and could not let it go. This one of me when I was innocent and young, how I longed to be there again but knew it would never come.

The pictures still progressing, my mind and body growing tired, the last picture I remember was the one that stopped my life.

The mirror I looked into held the picture of me, not as I look now but what is soon to be. As I stare into the mirror I whispered the words, I had no control over them as if it were a curse.

Déjà vu as the words slipped off my tongue the mirror shatters into a thousand shards, as deaths song was sung.

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