A Soliloquy for Intrusive Thoughts

This man lives at the back of my head. 

Tucked under my occipital lobe, 

he hunches over, too tall for my skull. 

His squirrel-teeth curl over a vicious tongue 

that cuts into my ears from the inside. He 

gropes at my neck and spine 

and ears and lips and he makes me say 

things I would have never dreamed 

and think of things I regret. 

His eyes see through my eyes 

and bleed into my daydreams 

until I can no longer see through the red. 

He is a lecher. 

Staring and longing, trailing filthy blood 

shot eyes into the souls of others 

and down their shirts. 

Oh, to be unsullied again. 

He urges me to wipe that debauched lipstick from 

my mouth and repent my sins. 

I crave to be rid of him. 

I have been deprived of silence, 


since he has come here. 

Since he has dug his polluted hands 

into my gyri and gripped so hard I 

feel I may faint. 

His long coat, stained with shit 

and blood sweeps along the floor 

of my skull and keeps me from sleep. 

When I finally succumb to darkness, 

it is only a matter of time until I hear him

calling me to wake. 

And again we go on this 

hellish merry-go-round.

By Emma Compton

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