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Jan 2015
Tightened skin stretched around burning sockets
dry eyes that want nothing more then to weep
staring at non existent patterns of the ceiling
trying to decipher something
to bring release, blessed unconsciousness
to float away for a time and timeless
to not exist
until time to wake again to face this hateful world
torn full of words and screaming to be heard
only to rush to another endless night
to lay alone with the voices
and wish desperately
to sleep
tortuously the weary mind tired beyond comprehension
is denied this most basic of escapes from life
seemingly trapped here in this stale
empty bed that reflects
waking life.

Send me out to the emptiness between galaxies
and let me sleep forever in the cold dark
Tomas Denson
Written by
Tomas Denson  The world
(The world)   
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