As I fell upstairs
last evening
I don't know
why, i couldn't
Stand up straight,
but I wasn't drunk
I was crashing around,
like the lost soul
That I seem to have become
A ghost who lives
in between this life
And an early grave
Full of sorrow
Full of pain
An absence of dust
in an un-aired room
a shade against
the lighted window
at evening
I only pay attention to
My dreams now
However mundane
Or strange they are
My life is too full of hurting
to contemplate much
What has become of me?
I cannot say for
I do not know
Only that I am
Bereft of hope
And there are things
worse than death
I see others' living
and despair
That I will ever know
such things
Again.