The Trip
Sickness clutches at my stomach,
The feeling of abandonment grabs at my heart,
Tears welling in my eyes sting,
Threatening to break the bridge,
Between sanity and losing face in this crowd.
Creatures surround me, noisy, buzzing in my ears,
Unable to make out their sounds - I ignore myself.
Echos of the words I once whispered so sweetly,
The glass shatters my reality,
Eyes blinking like old snapshots,
War zones flicker black and white on the screen, silently,
The symphony plays a melancholy tune,
Reminiscing death and love in the shadows of life,
I stare, empty holes of blackness, boring into the walls,
Blank - Hello? No one is home,
I respond to a call sounding from no where,
I talk to myself, answering sentences never said,
Wreckage surrounds my chair shamelessly,
Broken bottles and trash lay upon the stained floor,
Cluttered the room is small,
Growing horrendously large before my eyes,
Crying for the scene before my masked face,
Tears stream, from my eyes,
I scream, wiping them - red liquid marks my fingertips.
I am sliding away, tripping like pink, dying in my lone room.
The glass slips from my grasp spilling my life,
White scars show against yellowing nicotine.
The door knocks, It yawns at me, then turns viscious.
The room turns on me, leaving me a puddle,
The shadow of a being I once was,
Help, my words silent in my head.
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