Scars, fresh raised and red
Born of stainless razors edge
Bleed…to make me feel
Numb, I do not understand
What flawed design produced me
Sleeves long– Hide the shame
Attempts for naught this hollow fill
Am I all alone
Left to cut and poke and prod
To wake up the walking dead
~
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Image Credit: rooseveltcampusnetwork.com
A mind in torment
Severed from reality
Ignored as damaged
An illness to be treated
Not labeled as defective
~
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Dusty bus stop bench
Ragged, dirty, unshaven
Traffic racing by
You didn’t speak, just stared
As I offered what I could
~
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
By D. R. DiFrancesco
Wind blows icy and sharp,
Sidewalks caked in gum and grime,
Could pass for Art Deco,
If not for their hearts of stone.
A biting chill rising,
Stinging the prone soul,
The corner she calls home,
Talking and motioning to her alter-ego.
Wrapped in a windbreaker of plastic,
Once for someones rubbish,
Black and torn,
This, her life fortune.
Passers-by avoid her gaze,
The unseen don’t exist in their convenient world ,
While scorn cast its ugly breath upon her,
Disguised as laughter and whispers.
She’s gone now,
Passed away, put away, moved on,
Her home, white washed and sterile,
Did you even know who she was, did she ever exist?
She could have been your mother,
Possibly a sister or a family friend,
Someone you could have loved,
She could have even been you.
By D. R. DiFrancesco
The circus arrived many years ago,
Staking claim to hallowed ground that was not their own,
Jugglers, acrobats, circus clowns fragmenting your mind,
Side shows of a freakish nature.
Your thoughts being tossed,
Like so many rainbow colored balls,
Blurred and spinning round and round,
Distorting the line between what’s real and what’s fantasy.
Unsure of who you are,
Whirling dervish’s do cartwheels upsetting your equilibrium,
Stumbling and falling you struggle to regain composure,
Putting on a show for the horde.
You paint on your happy face,
Trying to shut out the worry with jokes, laughter and slight of hand,
Insecurity and despondency boo at you from the crowd,
While secretly you crave the drugs that keep you sane.
Yet the show must go on,
Since life doesn’t stand still for you,
Under your big top of antidepressants,
You cope as best you can.
Each day brings a new performance,
Crowds of onlookers hoping for a fall,
But you won’t give them the satisfaction,
Instead you maintain your balance on the tightrope that is your existence.
White noise
Distorting my senses
Images like flashbacks fill my mind
Thoughts, past, present and future
Blur the lines between fantasy and reality
Sanity or insanity
Who is to say which is which
Its difficult to tell anymore
Dreams materialize in painful rushes of sound and color
Awake…No rest, can’t sleep
Unfolding into vivid nightmares
They seem so real
Glimpses of my innermost fears
Each breath becomes more labored
Struggling to claw back to consciousness
I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins
Rapid, it battles to sustain me
The pounding in my head clouds my vision
Strong burnt coffee the medicine
Nerves steady…Fog recedes
Jarred back to life by the caffine
Another day of subsistence
Endeavoring to crawl out of the darkness
Alone and lonely.
Dom DiFrancesco 