Appeal

Even as I looked at him—
A piece of my brain 
Crumbled into my skull. 
My father, the best of his kind, 
Had trouble enough of his own
But still I tried—

Daddy, I’m sick. 
I dream of losing my teeth,
And emerging from my green gums 
Are worms that tunnel through my soul
Eating away any type of love or hope. 
Daddy, listen, I’m sick. 
I dream that depression spreads like gangrene 
Rotting away my future 
Shredding it in purple, bubbling strips, 
And it starts in a white, searing pain
But ends in numbness,
That grips like death.
Daddy! I dreamed the stars
 Fell from the sky last night
And in absence of their twinkle,
A black hole consumed life
Trapping it in the abyss
Of fear, because the apocalypse 
Starts now, here, in my mind
And good God! I won’t make it out alive.
Daddy, I never really awake.”

I couldn’t tell him about the blades,
How every one of them is drenched
With crimson stains
Like a cloud’s silver lining. 
Couldn’t tell him that
The poison kool aid fan club
Is my cult,
Where people drink in some
Contorted notion of justice.
But I hoped he’d get my message for help,
Because I could not appeal for it myself, 
And I thought he would understand
That my dreams are the face of reality. 

But after I recounted the tales
Of sinking ships and gut intrales,
He smiled, said nightmares happen occasionally, 
Got me a biscuit and made me mint tea,
Left me sitting cross-legged on the floor,
Went back to bed and locked the door.