February 21, 2011



Soft lights flicker and reflect upon the wall
the wall a lake standing on it side.
Lights soar across it

pinned down and laced with paper chains
casting shadows on glossy pictures;
pulled from the binding of a magazine.

A clock ticks incessantly-
disturbing the dull hum of the road outside,
disturbing the dull silence in which I lie.

I am dreaming but not asleep
I feel dead although am living.
I’ve grown tired of my drifting state, here to be seen but not understood.

I can feel: the cold sheets I lay upon,
my hair falling on my collar,
the cold air touch my exposed skin. But no emotion touches me.
I’ve no sense for feelings.

I am a ghost without spirit.


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