Quiet.

A stillness born of death pervades my room.
I’m sat here.
Silent.

I’m tired.
Weary.
Mind screaming war-worn tales of

Confusion.

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

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