Widdendream nightmare

This photo is not my work

In my widdendream I scream although you hear it not

My head is close to bursting, or better yet rot

In my cage of clay walls I’m banging my head hard

This life I am living is just a safeguard

Or so they say

 

Safeguard from what?

Is he real I say?

Who they ask?

Mr Ted

 

He came into my bedroom and now he’s in my head

We all know he’s not real, or so the doctor said

But if he isn’t and you say I’m safe aren’t I being misled?

Instead I get no answers, another shot I get

A dose of dreamland to help me forget

But I don’t

Mr Ted

He is

Real

 

I see him over there

Behind my mind’s eye, a memory of despair

I woke up again, still in the widdendream

But they do not listen

They only think I scream

But I am shouting HELP, HELP

Get me out of here

I cannot bare to stay here

Not for another year!

I don’t think I’ll ever leave

Here I’m meant to stay

And in my widdendream I hear him

Mr Ted wants to play…

 

This photo is not my work

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Filed under Poems V - Z, Short Stories

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