Apnea Consequences

Written by: Colin Marschall

Segregated solitude
misfires synaptic connections,
and I meander around spectre conversations
in autistim-like nightmares,
wondering if I can learn your language.

Memories are like ice,
reducing every day until only a puddle remains,
a mote of déjà vu, but no substance,

just damp resonance of a decaying thought.

I fight amnesia
without knowing the battle plans,
straining to hold that piece of land;
that piece of me.

Night’s siren calls,
lulling me to beguiling sleep,
where dreams are only darkness

and tomorrow erases today.