Psychoanalyze Me


I am not the only one in the White Room.

Sheer fabric whispers from the windows

Goblet in hand, I drink to the Grecian lady

White dress, raven ringlets frame the face

Of porcelain

A laugh escapes

Filling the room with purity

Safety and good-will


One man stands in the Shadows

In a room with nothing to cast Shadows


She drinks.

A carved ivory horn filled

With red

I feel its texture through her hand

Rough and smooth, interchanged


Muscles tense.

Veins pulse.

She pulls the drink away from ruby lips

Porcelain to Pale to Blue

Laughter to Silence to Fear

Pupils widen and consume

Neck snaps to the side

Labored breaths

The horn falls from rigid hands

Blood oozes across the tiles

Not red.

Black Shadow.




Jaw drops and death releases its sour-sweet scent

I am enveloped in the odor

Quick! Call for help from the

Shadow Man.

Poison to Shadow to Death




No face, no name, no purpose

But I sense a smile

The Shadow Man reaches the door, turns the handle


Locked in.




Hands shoot up, grip my shoulders

She is rigid, possessed

I am rigid, lame

We are a match if not one and the same

Words spill from her mouth

Words of hate

Telling me I will die

Describing terrible things

Pinching, pulling, tearing

I cry.

Break away only to be pulled back

Tears flow.

Incoherent babble.

Will myself to fight

What then,

when will is not enough,

To fight yourself?




My eyes shoot open

Trapped by my own sheets, not cold hands

Covered in sweat, not blood

Safe in the dark room where there is no white Grecian lady

No Shadow Man. 

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