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Into the Void, Act III: The Void, Chapter 1 - Fever Dreams



I've lost control,
Spilling over the brink, and into oblivion.

Run back the way you came,
There's nothing here for you but pain.
It's no longer safe for you to stay here.

Floating here in candled silence,
The walls begin to groan.
Vaulted ceiling capitulates,
And I am not alone.

Fever dreams play out before my eyes.
Euphoric fantasies dissipate,
As the nymphs begin to cry.

Fading to twisted lucidity, It all becomes so clear,
And everything is illuminated.
Don't you ever, ever do this to yourself again.
Some things are buried for a reason.
(It'll come around again soon enough)
Introspection, self reflection run unfettered
By repression, self suppression, cue depression.
But you're not even close, things only get worse from here.
(Interesting things can happen between the cracks
Or where lines are blurred.)

As I travel o'er the frozen ground
Telling myself this is but a dream,
Treading softly as not to make a sound
Trying harder still not to scream.

Wake Up! Wake Up! Wake Up!

At what I see in my environs,
White Wastes littered with corpses strewn
Beside their still-warm shooting-irons,
Steam escapes through open wounds.

For I can feel Them here, watching me
And see them in the corner of my eye,
Lurking deep in my dark periphery,
Whispering that I'll be the next to die.

When I turn to look, they disappear.
Not a single trace of them remains
Save for my crippling sense of fear,
And those rapidly cooling Red stains.

My knuckles turn a ghostly pale White.
Fingers tightening on my revolver's wood.
Shaking hands weaving my front sight,
Aiming for the Unseen as best as I could.

Only two rounds remain in my gun,
My only hope in this land of strife.
I will defend myself with one,
But the last round will end my life.

What icy cold hell is this?
How did I come to be in this place?
This city, all white and quiet with snow,
Streets utterly abandoned, the mice secluded in their shells.

The Old Man's eyes are as White as the Waste
Reflecting Light with glassy stare.
His Pupils and Iris through time erased,
Fixed steady, past me, I'm not there.

Nervously, uncertain and unsure:
Where am I? I hastily inquire.
How much more of this must I endure?
But not a single word from the Sire.

Confused and terrified, I press on
How can I escape Them? Reply!
He just stands there, from the World withdrawn.
He's but a statue, stone, I sigh.

I turn on my heels to carry on,
Whilst He remains there, stock still.
With His silence, my hopes are foregone.
With His Words, I feel a chill.

You must close Your eyes to See,
For it is Your mind that grants you Sight.
While Your own eyes may deceive,
The Right thoughts can make things Right.

I have told you all of this before,
All you need do is hear me well.
Be damned, All you will do is ignore
And carry on through this cold hell.

Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

Just give me a sign.

You must leave this place. You must leave. You must.
You'll never learn. The Truth beside.
What you haven't earned. Our selves denied.
On our terms. I'll be here. You'll never know. Waiting.
You can't have it all, but here's to trying
To make it all work.

Lazarus arise, and walk again.
Rejoin the living, come back from the dead.
Where have you been? I didn't want this.
Hiding. Not like this.
All this time? It's too late.
All my life? To change it.
This is a disaster.
Don't worry about me. Don't you worry.
This is a. Don't you. Disaster. Worry. This is a. About me. Disaster. Don't you worry.

Nevermind.
I'm lost again.

In my stream of ((UN))consciousness.
I'm lost. In my. Again. Stream of. Nevermind. Consciousness.
Stuck in a feedback loop to hell.
I deserve every bit of this.
Get me out. Get me out.

I want to go to there.

In the space between

time,

and

standing still.

A far-flung correspondent long unseen,
Lurking in the shadow, popping his jaw.

Stuck in a decision-mode....
/Recombinant!
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Submitted on April 13, 2011

3:37 min read
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el_cazador_verde Claim this poet

I am a university student from Texas, and a bit of a closet-poet. Perhaps I should keep it in the closet, but I am interested in getting feedback on some of my poetry. Let me know what you think! I used to write a lot of poetry when I was a little kid, but eventually lost interest as I got older. I started writing poetry again as a form of art-therapy during a really hard time in my life. I like to try to experiment with different styles and strange metaphors. Understandably, this can make some of my poetry less accessible at times, but occasionally I feel like it pays off. more…

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    "Into the Void, Act III: The Void, Chapter 1 - Fever Dreams" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 26 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/75570/into-the-void,-act-iii:-the-void,-chapter-1---fever-dreams>.

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