Sitting here with my head lowered I feel the depths of sleep tire me at the very core
My hand reaches through my hair,fingertips stretching searching seen trying to wake this sorry soul
grasping at the short strands that used to be a dark mass yet now resemble some lost scared ghost of Christmas past
I sit here trying to write my future
trying to forget some past
The screen looks blurry as my glasses no longer do their job, yet another sign this body and soul is in decline.Glasses off and all comes clear again .Dam these eyes as i rub and rub the sore red stinging that comes with age and sleep deprivation.
My mind is full of fireworks whilst my body is made of wax thats been sat to near the glowing embers of a log fire set there for the night.Oh to have a normal mind ,a mind that forgets ambition ,forgets his dream, forgets reality ,maybe its time to join big brother and become a prole
Would life be so different,would I learn to sleep any better ,would my life become more wholesome
do I need another life ...
na my fireworks are my life
my madness is my way and my writing keeps me sane...the alcohol consume me, hides me, deserts me yet my family love me ...god knows why I think they must be drugged ,maybe its hypnosis maybe just maybe its me ...as for my friends bless em they really must be desperate ...well a proles live for me or back to my quazi quazi life, back to the fireworks in my mind, back into the openness of the sea