Only At Midnight

(I Feel Your Hands On Me)

CW: low self-esteem

 

I return to the familiar mattress 

It's dark, cold, musty 

And you're always there, from across the room

Looking from the shadows, patiently watching me unravel 

I never can tell when the realization clicks 

I am 24 in the body of a 7 year old 

The soul of a rebellious sinner in 

The body of one yet to have sinned 

When I do, I always wonder if you 

From across the room realize it too 

Maybe you don't, maybe you do 

Yet, you move towards me like rusty clockwork

Everytime the realization kicks in 

Fear holds me down like a vice 

Your hands around my neck, like a vice 

They clench, they clench 

As if my arteries are the toughest metal 

Press the air out so all I feel is 

Hands like prolonged unwanted hugs 

Hands like a python’s embrace 

Every night 

Between nightmare and paralysis 

I understand 

It was a mistake for me to stray 

It was a mistake for me to remember 

It was a mistake for me to be born 

I battle for respite and self-forgiveness 

On the familiar mattress 

When it is dark, cold, musty 

And you are watching from the shadows 

Price Maccarthy

Price Maccarthy (she/her) is a visually impaired writer from Ghana and Nigeria with a penchant for autobiographical prose and poetry. She hopes to someday fully pen her — sometimes comical but often hard-hitting — life experiences into a piece she is proud of. Apart from living for the art of chronic procrastination, Price loves good food, books that make her cry, and dark humor (no pun intended).

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These Bones