Nailed Poem by Segel Duarte

I move an inked hand,
Tainted with forgetfulness,
An unfamiliar face?
I look, but find nothing,
Is it an old friend?
Just nobody in front of me.

I move a regretful hand,
It yells in a twisted way,
A simple cacophony,
The touch fades away noisly,
Was I hearing something?
I look again and I'm nailed

I open my eyes and see flashes,
Erratic, noisy, frantic,
I turn and they fall silent snappish,
Was I seeing someting?
I close them and fall asleep once more.

I extend my weary hand,
Noticing there's a mark,
A sealed memory in its palm,
A wound? a scar?
I probe inside, finding no end,
Whithin, I see a crying child,
Why does that weeping terrify me?

I close my drowsy eyes,
Suddenly, someone draws near,
I try to run, but I'm nailed,
They scream at me in anger and cacophony,
They pounce on me, dagger in hand,
I try to move, but I'm nailed,
From skin to soul, I'm nailed,
In a exaggerated heartbeat, I wake in my bed.

I open my shocked eyes,
Searching for the wound in my chest,
But all I find is weeping,
I look at the shattered mirror,
I see a despondent child,
Was it me who cause you harm?

I move my bloodied hand,
Stained with memories of death,
The child is gone, only flesh remains,
I look at my hand, now turned to bone,
I look to the past, a corpse on my path,
The child died, and with it, my humanity.