limbic caraphernelia

this morning, i woke up
to a fatal numbness —
that grapples me like chainsaw
in a witch trial.

i could feel the limbic caraphernelia,
they turn me into Böcklin canvas,
and i sit right up, my body aching —
the faint winter sunlight overshadowing.

is this hedonistic or pessimistic?
was this disease a virus enchanting
my mind with its anticipated monstrosity?
or was i pawn for it's next spell?

i fight with it, every second —
all the whispers now evolving into screams,
the ground beneath turns blood red
and once again, i am entrapped in misery.

this macabre dance with the devil,
has me in shackles —
but pearls from my lacrimals
are now befriended by it.

and so, as dawn turns to the dusky daylight ;
i slowly untie myself, in much despair,
it's time to battle again,
just like every breath, without being a knight in shining armor.