To say the least, I thought I've seen them all

Where is my release? How can I let it all out for good? i've cried, lord knows I have, but apparently not enough, the tears always come back. I've screamed, until my throat was raw, but I just seemed to get angrier. I've punched, and hit, and kicked, but not hard enough, the frustration never left. I've walked, I've run, I've sprinted, but not far enough, theres always somewhere else to go, another road to take. i've written, but not detailed enough, I can never rid the words, they always come back, theres always something else to say. These images, of her there, they control my dreams. And my dreams, those terrible, terrible dreams, make me afraid, afraid of myself, of my imagination, of my memories. What i seem to have now, instead of sweet memoirs of her, are images, terrifying images. Of course I see the good ones, i see her balanced on the arm of the sofa in her sitting room, listening to them all talk, laughing. I see her dancing the lullaby of broadway, harder, faster, and more energetic than the rest of us. I see the protruding area of chest above her breasts, i feel her cheeck, so soft. But I can't focus on those aspects, they remind me that she is gone. Instead I see her lying there, shrivelled, tiny, nostrils flared, hands hard and cold, face stern, the veil covering her, the green suit and green hat, how pale she was, the stillness. And then i dream, a nightmare, of my mother's suicide, my brothers accident, or my father's disappearence. But mostly, of the man. That man, his black hair, his round face, his terrifying eyes, the flames, I see him walk towards me and I wake screaming, kicking, crying. i wake as helpess as i was sleeping. Helpless in reality, being thrown by the revolutions of the world. Lost in my own life.