Abducted By Ecstasy & Fear Poem by GRANT FRASER

What's this thing -
that's not quite right,
or is supposed to be?

Is it the wing of madness
overshadowing a landscape
where I walk...

Or like miniscule air
attacks on my breathing,

Internally I jump up,
or lie out prostrate,
while the phantom
dissects me,

Echoing! ! ! !

We're taking you to bits,
don't move any more than
you have to,

Is it me then, myself,
Or some hidden force?

Or just the kingdom
of sheer open space,
internal vacuums of torment,
requiring new hope?

Whatever it is,
it hardly asks,
but mounts me
like an invisible
spectre!

So is it surprising,
that as a child,
I thought the spirits
were******* with me,

Like get off,
or come back,

Our presence on Earth,
sometimes not so homely...