archives, poetry

They Came Knocking. {poetry}

“Remember that there is beauty to be found in madness.
The darker the night, the brighter the stars.
The rougher the Rapids, the smoother the stone.
The greater the struggle, the deeper the love.” ~ A. R. Lucas

Addiction. It came knocking. And I, without thinking, answered.

I answered because I was filled with pain. A pain that I did not, and could not, and would not, feel. A pain that was so deep, so huge, so intense, it threatened to engulf me. Its cries and needs were relentless. It howled at me night and day. And it would not let me go.

Addiction. It was my friend. It came wearing the clothes of drugs and alcohol, and for a time, it helped me run away from the emptiness that was me. It came with me everywhere. And everywhere we went, it whispered to me: We don’t need this. We don’t need them. You are better off alone. You don’t need anyone. Stay with me, I will show you how to live.

And out in the world, I was looking for something. And that something was me. But I did not know that I was the lost. 

And everywhere I went, I looked for the something that would fill up the void that had come to be me. I looked  for the love and the acceptance, I did not feel. I looked for something that would numb the pain. And I found what I was looking for. I found addiction.

I was the broken, and the darkness was my home, and for a very long time I dwelled in that world. 

This is the story of what that world felt like for me.


The drums beat, and I dance in and around this thing I call my life. 

I step over the wreckage that falls all around me, and I cannot help but cut my feet on all the broken shards and sharp pieces of my life. 

I huddle in the corner as I seek the loneliness and isolation that I have come to know so well.

The darkness surrounds me, and I call to the demons that have walked with me on this path. I offer them my life and they gobble it up greedily, always asking for and wanting more. 

They see the emptiness that is me. I am fair game for the energy they seek. I see the hunger in their eyes. Their stare haunts me, but I am compelled by their grip. I want to be hurt. I know that pain. It is me. What they offer brings me to life.

It brings me to life. And kills me again.

I give over and over. Till I have nothing left. Now I am the dead walking. I move in and around, but I do not see, and I do not feel.

The void I have inside me threatens to engulf me, but they will not let me go. They know I yearn to be with them. They feel my hunger too. 

Death will be no escape for me.  

The dark ones see the emptiness inside me.

They know it so well. I try to fill it endlessly and endlessly. But my void has no end and no beginning. And no matter how hard I try…

… I am still the dead walking.


They came knocking.
Was it me who actually let them in?
I can’t remember.
I just wanted to forget.

They came knocking.
It was me.
I felt so numb.
God, I just didn’t want to feel.

They came knocking.
I knew they were already on their way.
I left the door unlocked.
Now I call them my friends.

They came knocking.
Is there really anything left?
I will just sit here in the corner.
Take what you want, I just don’t care.

They came knocking.
The door is wide open now.
The numbness doesn’t leave.
I am simply just the dead.

They came knocking.
Now I can’t even look.
I know where this will end.
Please, just take away my pain.

They came knocking.
I’m crouched here, alone.
I’m lost, yet here.
Far away, yet so close.

They come knocking
And my soul has gone.
Will anyone come looking for me?
Or have I been right here all along?

They keep on knocking.
Why did I let them in?
I want to lock the door now.
Is it really all too late?

They keep on knocking.
But now their touch doesn’t get through.
I still remember.
And worst of all, I still feel.
Please just go away.

They keep on knocking.
Now I have barred the door.
I want to feel.
I want to live.
Can’t you just go away?

They won’t stop knocking.
I keep them out.
Just this once.
Life seeps back into me.
I see it starting to fill my veins.
Can I keep them out once again?

The knocking stopped.
I see their paths worn through my soul.
I danced with death.
Has it made me any stronger?

I still do not hear the knocking.
But I’m afraid it will come again.
I dance on a wire.
Anything to keep the knocking at bay.

I listen for the knocking.
Has it really gone away?
The knocking took me to hell.
And there, I learnt, to find myself again.


Kim Turfrey is a mother of two who lives in New Zealand and enjoys writing. She was born with a disability, and has used crutches for her whole life. She spent the majority of the first 12 years of her life living mainly in a hospital, away from her family, and now she writes about life as she sees it. You could contact Kim via Facebook.


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