Friday, February 11, 2011

Clot

Alone in a scummy mist, a long dull drive - 

Garish kitchen.
He's slow. They're burnt. 
Wander up and don't return. 
Tired pins my eyes open.
Hungry with nothing to eat.
Itchy. Dirty.
Suddenly frustrated.
Suddenly lonely.
Let the stiffness of angry
Uncomfortable
Hungry
Wear me to sleep
Where I sit. 
It gets better.
Swimming with sharks and 
Walking the windy-icy shoreline - 
The sun doesn't set, only freezes away,
Shrinking to frigid steel and blue
And pink that simply becomes dark.
And the thing I call loneliness in my limited language
Creeps back in.
But again
It drifts away.
Deposit me in a haunted room - 
Hot tears on the pillow
A clot in my chest.

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