Madwoman

prose poetry

MADWOMAN

A madwoman lives in my attic,

Chained to vital gray matter,

Entwined in neural paths

that lead dark parts

of my heart.

She is a childlike figure,

Fragile as blown glass,

her wild eyes are mirrors

that reflect raw emotion.

She feeds on my insecurities

and drinks in my anxieties,

And when her belly is full,

She howls in agony.

I keep her locked away,

so I might walk within the light,

But she’s the one who holds the key

to free me from my night.