I thought;
….. In moments of hope
There was something special in the root of my psyche.
(There was no inspiration left)
When eyes closed and hearts shut down
And my body became lost to the wrap of choking scarves
For migration into blank canvas months
I ceased to exist.

I was the death of character
Homeless
A beautiful flower deserted in a dead field
When.
I became.
Alone.
For was my desolation the finding of my solace?
Or merely the comfort of my own depression
Self-centred.
Abandoning.
No more need for niceties.

Chained to a vinyl that spun with a process of blurred vision
Beaten skin
Bruised ego
Was the last verse of the last song written solely for me
If I play it backwards
Would I hear my name
Repeated
Slowly.
Calmly.

I thought there was something special in my psyche
The ability to help
The strength for others.

Yet as my head hangs low
I see only my silent soul