Stigmata

Kneeling at my bedside table,
I keep listening, as mommy used to say
But there is no sound, this is only silence
And screaming…that never seems to stop

I keep having these dreams,
Visions of impalement,
Death
One of a boy drowning out of water

I awaken with wounds I do not remember suffering
Blood in my hair,
Stains on my cloths,
Holes so deep…I can see the burning flesh beneath

Are you doing this?
Or is it Satan?
As the men of the good book say,
like he be a monster from a fairytale
Come to rip me away form their cold stinging hands.
Did you submerse me in darkness?
Will you not tell me?
Is that why the boy-child screams?
You gave him darkness too?

You’re the monster ripping…ripping him away whilst arms still clenched around him,
To take him to a “better place.”
The bad place…to be with a killer!
A murderous fiend, stealing babies from cribs and love from itself
Innocence…You feed on it!

My dreaming has entered reality…
Every way I turn I see your victims, taunting me horribly

No food…

Nor water…

I dare not close thy eyes
Visions in consciousness drag me closer to you,
I do not wish to sleep on it!
I bleed and dream as I pray to your son’s feet…
It is you who be the monster!
This I tell you!
As I am kneeling at my bedside table…