Terrors of Today – “Bedlam In Flesh” by Devin M. Anderson
Originally published in The Horror Zine Spring 2026 issue
He stands before you
Five foot nothing
Eyes ablaze
Handcus dangling from
Fingers bent at
Impossible angles
Made possible by the
Brutal self-determination of
Ripping cuffs off
Already broken hands
Narcotic skull bombs explode
You blink, and he juggernauts you
Like a fucking garbage truck
Speeding through your intersection
Meat mitts pounding
Grappling, biting, frothing
Howling gibberish through
Busted lips and the
Blood soaked spit mask
Self inflicted, the cops said
The cops who dumped him on us
To babysit
But this is no baby
Madness unleashed
Shit covered and
Vomiting forth obscenities
“Restraining without injury” now
Nothing more than
Words on paper
It’s hurt or be hurt
Jesus! He bit me!
Hold him down for God’s sake!
Needle in the glutes
Intramuscular injection 101
But the haldol isn’t working
Then the pop happens
That sickening, sucking pop of his shoulder
As it dislocates without pain
Blood-slick, your grip slips
And he’s swinging again
One hand like a sledgehammer
The other, a limp pool noodle
Hold him down for another shot
Sedation sets in
Bedlam fading
Sobbing, he promises
To kill your family
Before sliding into unconsciousness
Like a warm bath
The chemical demon sleeps
Inside this cage of sorry -esh
So much blood
But a wounded soul
Is harder to heal
Than any laceration
I mourn the walking dead
Those stranded in addiction
Strapped to a gurney
With leather restraints
PCP is a helluva ride
And he barely met the height required
Because he’s only seventeen
And the nurses are crying
In the ambulance bay
And you drink yourself to sleep again
To shut out the screams
Of the damned
Artist’s Statement:
This poem is an amalgamation of every fight I’ve ever been in while working as a hands-on security officer at the local Trauma Center Emergency Room, and Mental Health Assessment & Referral department back in Ventura, CA. Both departments were gladiator pits.
For five and a half years, I fought drunks, drug addicts, unfortunate souls in the horrifying grips of psychosis, gang bangers, and the not-so-occasional unruly visitor.
Unarmed. Barely trained. And underpaid for what I dealt with on a daily basis. But I saved lives. More than once, I know if I hadn’t intervened that someone would’ve been stabbed, or shot, or beaten until their eyes bled. It haunts me to this day. I know that I hurt these people in self defense, but the scars that I carry are more than skin deep.
This poem holds a mirror up to the horror of violence and extreme drug use. Violence perpetrated daily against hospital staff. According to statistics from Press Ganey, more than two nurses are assaulted every hour.
That equates to roughly 57 assaults per day, 1,739 assaults per month, and 5,217 assaults per quarter. And even their numbers are more than likely low, because the vast majority of assaults go unreported.
I dedicate this poem to those nurses. The ones who could take a kick to the gut, and still treat that patient with a mother’s care. God bless the healers, the helpers, and the poor souls lost to addiction.
About Devin M. Anderson
Devin M. Anderson is a Southern California boy at heart, born and raised. Now he haunts a tiny little town nestled between the corn fields and sporadic forests of southern Illinois. An author, poet, devoted husband, and stay-at-home dad to two beautifully brilliant autistic kiddos, he travels the road to healing from Borderline Personality Disorder and CPTSD. Member of the HWA & SFPA.
His work has previously been featured in the anthologies: Hotel Macabre vol.1, Sleeve of Hearts, Piece by Piece: An Anti-Valentine’s Day Collection, Tales From The Lark Side, and The Horror Zine Magazine’s Spring 2025 issue. As well as appearances in Morsus Vitae, The Horror Zine, and Alien Buddha Zine.
To find more by Devin check out his YouTube & Blog at:
