Wednesday, April 9, 2008

The cruel clock
drags slowly to half past one.
Two tiny white pills..
I cling on to my weapons.

Pillow cold as ice
heavier than wet unyielding rock
soft, white, moonlit bed
a mound of broken glass

The solitary streetlight
makes the shadows
dance on the ceiling
to the tunes of melancholy

Caressing my brow with love
the Angel of pain bathes
in the splendor
of deafening silence

“Rest is for the weak”,
she whispers
and gifts me
another night insane.

© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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