Its 1 am, and I’m here with the wind howling its melancholy,
With the rain beating at the windowpanes
Counting the reasons to be …
On one hand with fingers to spare.
Its 10 minutes later, and the thunder drums and rolls,
And slams my fears into the grey twist and turns of my brain.
If I close my eyes will the dream come back.
If I breathe slowly in and out, will sleep return.
I have no building blocks in hand to build my stairway to heaven,
Easier to slip and slide and wallow in the muddy pools of hell.
This low, that high, the hand that rocks the cradle,
The storm that overturns the boat
Tosses me into the lukewarm recesses of selfpity.
Time, after time, the seconds break away from minutes,
The minutes from hours,
Hours from days,
Days from weeks,
Weeks from months
And months from years…..
Finds me whispering the final countdown to my selfdestruction.
Ranting and raving my discontent in silence.
Is this the Great Design?
Coping is nauseating, planning irrelevant, pretending to be sane…
Sleep has left the room,
Sanity is letting go of its lifeline,
This boat is sinking, and I, its captain.
(199 Words)
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