A stillness born of death pervades my room.
I’m sat here.
Mind screaming war-worn tales of
Thoughts which dangle around the cord around my neck.
To pull or jump.
To hide or fall.
Shadows mock the sights portrayed.
Notions of success & lover’s loved.
That I was king but now a tramp.
I breathe & mind stumbles towards an exit known.
In death can dreams become a golden shrine.
& the earth will give me gentle rest.
I seek escape.
~ a late night film & broken thoughts
© ed simkins 2015