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A Mind's Room
A kaleidoscope of unknown thrill rushes
within my swollen veins, needle-pricked –
and the liquid opiate carries me high, upstream
like a somersault in a glistening parade of a trance
intoxicated by multi-colored yet surreal imaginings,
absent from the pungent flavor of bleak reality…
I Am nothing but dust--- till the sensation drains.
The blue hour arrives, a period between morning and dusk
as twilight reflects the fading of my mind’s room
… where my heart aches till dawn snaps this evil poison,
And I cannot grasp soiled dust in my eyes,
The glassy sheets that lay me down on damp floor
forgetting not how pore of my flesh clots,
feverish when in tears: my body trembles
in this sordid room on lease—while I am
unable to wait for the next kick of midnight.
Copyright ©
Nette Onclaud
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