He breathes,
Bitter cotton air,
The Shadows won't leave
My friend keeps beckoning me
Away.
I search the monitor for text that is meaningless for words compassion for him for him because i can feel him smell him taste him see him
But he isn't there.
Insomniacs suck down their chalky beverages and pray for no more dreams while turner classic movies play another Scorsese flick
In the adjoining room the eleven year old fears death.
The house breathes nightmares.
My body shivers and tells me it isn't right it's not good.
By the prick of my thumb,
And I worry.
And I worry.
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