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
and I paint the nightmare landscapes
of silent screams and
locked doors leading nowhere
with a brush dripping
recrimination black
blame orange
self-hatred red
etching the thinned line
between sanity
and madness
between here
and gone

© 2017 Revised 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

 

 

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