Still Breath

Still Breath                        September 15, 2007

 

Dreams so bad

You want to abscond

To a land of absentia,

To the bottom of a pond.

And perhaps you are,

Your forehead's sweaty,

And so are your palms,

You just can't get a grip.

You shriek silently

Into the opaque surroundings

Which smother all that rings,

Where all hopes perish.

 

You breathe so hard,

Inhale so fast,

Your heart beats quickly

As a race horse bolts,

And as you tremor all over

Like a fish lying on ice,

Every little breath

Is like a thousand needles:

Piercing your lungs,

Filling them with blood

Until the still breath is past the last.