James D. Faulkner

Prozac Phantom

I awken in a bed of glass,
A bed of what once was a home,
Now lacking all safe qualities.
Everything is burned,
Everyone is gone,
They left me here alone,
And the thought of where they could be
Right now is overwhelming.
Please, is someone out there?
I cry to the world.
A reply of loud footsteps
Lingers in the air.

Wake up.

Who is it? I ask.
Then emerges the silhoutte
Of my memories, in the shape of man.

Wake up.

Run, I decide,
Run from the pain.
It's all your fault, it calls after me.
Bare feet on a carpet of razorblades.
Each cut opens an old wound.

Damn it, wake up!

The stitches that hold my limbs together
Begin to loosen
Until I fall apart
In the bed of my mistakes.
The silhouette staggers to my side
And offers me a gun
To take away
Everything I've done....


I am stuck in a nightmare,
Damned by the prozac,
I wish to removes these staples
From my eyelids and
Wake up.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Poem Edited: Wednesday, March 17, 2010

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