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Writer's pictureDawson Stafford

The Night

He wakes up in a pool of sweat, those drug-fuelled crazy dreams,

night terrors come to haunt him; none can hear his silent screams.


Shuffling like the living dead he takes the magic beans,

a kaleidoscope of colours, his drug regime begins.


A few hours grace, a throwback, of how he used to be,

knowing that it’s all a ruse and he never will be free.


The sickness claims his body as it slowly eats his brain,

all that’s left is dignity and that’s begun to wane.


Stares and glares from public who haven’t got a clue,

but then bigotry and judgment to them is nothing new.


Shunned by those he called his friends without a rhyme or reason,

like rats out of a sinking ship on a tide of self-destruction.


One day he’s up the next he’s down, he’s become the perfect liar,

depression’s knocking at his door as he walks the jester’s wire.


When night becomes day in an insomniac way and demons dance in his mind,

It’s the pain of the present, a fear of the future and ghosts of a life left behind.


He knows the days are numbered, he knows he’s getting worse,

no magic or no wizardry can lift this bloody curse,


He doesn’t fear the reaper it’s his goading he can’t hack,

he thinks his Gods forsaken him and the Devils on his back.


Embryos and genetics, what if they found a cure?

Dare to dream the perfect dream, he is like he was before.


Darkness falls, the worlds asleep, the insomnia begins to bite,

he’s wide awake in his lonely world, Oh Christ! not another day of night.

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4 Comments


Alice Carroll
Alice Carroll
Jul 31, 2023

Enjoyed the entire poem, especially his use of these these phrases:

as it slowly eats his brain,


Shunned by those he called his friends without a rhyme or reason, (I hope to use this idiom in the future)

like rats out of a sinking ship on a tide of self-destruction. (Any mention of rats give me EA Poe chills as does the last half of the poem)


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Alison Blevins
Alison Blevins
Jul 30, 2023

Wow! The PD we all know but most are unaware of.

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Stephen Kingsnorth
Stephen Kingsnorth
Jul 29, 2023

A harsh reality, covering so many topics, so well expressed. I now write poetry (or do this, reading others' verse) from 11 to 2am, in preference to lying awake. Then sleeping pills and whisky climb the stairs at 2.30am, and I do get a solid sleep!

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John Dallison
John Dallison
Jul 28, 2023

A powerful poem, telling it like it is... Bravo!

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