Saturday, October 10, 2009

Season of Dying

The world is spinning again
I want to get off!
The colours, sights and sounds slosh together like bile
in the pit of my stomach,
at the back of my throat.
I take a deep breath,
Try to find my centre
But all I have are gaping holes.
I apply pressure to the open wounds,
Hoping to stem the leaking of my soul onto this haunted wasteland,
Where memories of our love wander without restraint.
There is no hope for me here.

I do not have the strength to seek the Lover,
I do not have the heart to meet the Friend.
This bloody pump is crushed beyond salvation,
Burnt from the inside out.
I watch as the autumn wind scatters it's ashes
like fallen leaves.
I cannot remember wholeness,
My thoughts stumbling like broken teeth from a decaying mouth.
I am just a shadow of the Summer sun,
I tire of this season of dying.
I want to come home to you again,
I want to come home.

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