I have taken in the color of patience,
to wait it out and discover the core,
of all my sinking feelings,
whirling and feeding in frenzy.
Desperately starved for satisfaction;
for a wholeness.
Under the light it turns my skin a pale yellow.
The smell of old papers and dust drenches my room, cradling in between the fibers of my bed.
I haven't slept since the birth of the new moon, everyday since then blurs together,
in a ghost like fog, haunting me like a black cloud.
The pressure is immeserable on my chest.
Small lines of pain draw from my head down to the root of me. |