The man

The man,

He knows, I know he’s there

Silently he watches me,

Aware of his painful torture,

He laughs, I know he laughs,

He thinks he’s funny

 

But inside it’s crippling,

I feel him breathing on me,

Strong breaths, heavy breaths,

Reminding me of his existence,

 

I feel him above me,

Staring down at me,

Punishing me for the mistake I have made,

And the mistakes I am yet to make

 

I feel him to my left, to my right,

He won’t let me sleep,

No he needs to punish me

 

I sit up but he’s still there, watching.

I don’t see him but he doesn’t need to be seen.

He is a man, an old man with white frail hair,

A grandpa or perhaps a prison officer,

It’s awfully vague, far too blurred to make out

 

This I am yet to find out,

So I wait, scared of what he’ll do,

He doesn’t let me sleep: he frightens me,

I stand up, thinking ‘I can beat him’,

But he and I both know that’s a never ending lie

 

I sit down with anxiety flooding in my cranium,

Water works begin in my skull,

Filling up fast I begin to panic,

I breathe in, I breathe out

 

I sit shaking,

I hesitate to hurt,

He wants me to hurt,

To feel his pain,

Combined with mine

 

I sit thinking,

To succumb to his cruel fantasies

 

Finally I get up, once and for all,

I decide he won’t rule me tonight,

No no no, not tonight,

So I count three, run to the door and thrash it open,

I reach for the light,

Because he and I both know,

Darkness won’t shine when the sun is out