Hypnosis

He hypnotised me 3 times

at 3 am this morning,

I allowed him to because 

I realised I was wearing

my ideas on my sleeve

and not letting them 

envelop my inner being 

with their pinions, thereby 

preventing seraphic enlightenment 

or cherubic brilliance, 

they’d become little scout badges

I sported in the presence 

of others: Religious Experience 

Badge with a depiction of

the beatific vision, 

Prophet of Wrath Badge 

with a picture of a man wearing 

sackcloth, holding a staff 

that turns water into blood, 

Thirst for Inspiration Badge 

with its two halves of the brain,

separated by a rushing, 

silvery stream of syllables, 

Lover in Distress badge 

portraying a man leaning 

against a wall staring through 

his muse at the bottle of rum 

on the table, 

Libidinous Lech Badge showing 

the phallus, the colour of molten lava, 

an incandescent, uncontrollable 

instrument, unable to play 

C major 7 though it tries 

and tries, 

I never believed in trance-like

states, and despised 

giving someone even a 

semblance of power over me, 

but the ghosts that prodded me

while I slept, with their myriad, 

serpentine hands, 

the boogeymen with their tongues 

of sulphur who made their way

through lanes of consciousness, 

scalding blissful thoughts, 

sullying them, until tranquil, 

blue waters became murky 

gutters, forced me to relent.

“When I say sleep, you won’t 

sleep but be more relaxed,”

he said, in a rich, baritone voice,

an A4, scenting my mind

with the smell of freshly roasted

coffee beans, but I doubted him.

He clicked his fingers, said, 

“You’ll laugh at your silly anxieties,”

and I wanted to smile but couldn’t.

“Remember a beautiful memory

that engendered bliss;

you’re in a time capsule now,”

he whispered, and slowly nodding off,

my eyelids heavy, 

I searched and searched,

wondering if I was ever happy and proud, 

without guilt inundating me 

like a slimy, swamp-demon with its 

foggy missiles.

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