Author’s Note: This poem was written in the middle of the night about my dreams. As I’ve been going on my shadow work journey in order to heal from my trauma, dreams have served as windows into my subconscious world.
Read while listening for maximum immersion:
When the Sun goes down,
The inner voice echoes on.
My dreams…they Call,
Yet still, they Echo on.
I dreamed of isolation,
Misunderstanding,
Willful hatred of Me.
The tears I trap in my
Throat emerge violently,
Until I awake with wet cheeks.
I dreamed of holding my
Mother’s Severed Head,
But everything I said only
Hurt her more— crying and crying,
Until the mucus seeped into
Our Mouth, and I vomit it out.
I dreamed of uncontrollable
Bleeding that only deeply stained
All that is Pure, All that is White.
Shame swallows me whole,
Until I finally awake to
Find my Feminine Cycle.
If you would like to support a passionate writer and literature student, please consider becoming a paid subscriber for extended Project Vampire Western updates, exclusive reflections on writing and creativity, and access to older stories, deleted scenes, teenage writing, and other forgotten relics.
Or, if you prefer, you can buy me a coffee. Just think of it as tossing a coin to your word witch. Either way, your readership is more than enough.
If you enjoyed this gothic poem, check out some of my other ones:
That third stanza: so visceral and layered! I imagine working with your dreams has been a powerful tool and portal.
Love this!
I don't know if you can call the ending a twist, but it was a twist mechanically haha