My Hit Parade

musical notes float through the air

almost visible

to sleep deprived eyes

razor edged lyrics

chosen for their bite

sharp enough to penetrate

ancient scar tissue that

crisscrosses internal contours

for every baby step forward

there are two slides backwards

to the place where psyche becomes blank canvas

to paint the nightmare landscapes

of silent screams and locked doors

leading nowhere

with a knife dripping recrimination



in a palette of





reaching the thinned line

between sanity

and madness

between here

and gone


© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved



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