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Sickening insomnia

I hold my weary gaze
through panes of stained crimson glass
as a blue autumn sky
calls my eyes forth
from a square hearted prison.
I so long to be
three dimensions;
to be seen or felt,
to be tasted or touched,
but life is unjust.
Give me back to the earth
as I feel my eyes
weaken and
vision becomes vague
like abstract art being
splashed on black canvas.

I see myself best in the dark.

Now a cold sun feels
winter’s breath breathing
down it’s neck
as it retreats to the
side we don’t see,
but sometimes I feel like
the moon is my only friend.
Sometimes falling stars
listen the best,
and I don’t mind being
the last to sleep at night
if it means my tears
won’t have to be the ones
who sing me a lullaby.

I have always felt incomplete.

These shortening days
feel like my breathing;
this air strangles my lungs
and I fear desperation
seeping through the veins
of the leaves
as they fall, like I do.
A silent swelling
of a heartbeat temper
paints my world
a throbbing scarlet
as I scream to leave
this place forever
to the point
of white shaking knuckles
and a bleeding throat.

I have never been able to hold onto salvation

Sickening insomnia

Nathan Emery

Joined September 2009

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