Tactility is nearly lost, exploring this wall
this plain white wall, where hangers once pierced.
Like a mime, almost, but hands have little feeling,
each white indent a symbol of a time - hopeful smiles.
Contact, is hesitant adherence to regularity
below the threshold of social living.

Heaviness diversifies through the vein maze,
like a bulkier fluid with no vitality, purposeless;
Except to disseminate the morose sense to the brain
filling like in a tub - bathing in burning tar,
burning - only temporarily relieved by peeled skin
burying all self worth and nostalgia.

Existence becomes consumed by waves of neurotic death
the plague wins the inner feud against movement;
cry or yell - what will it serve when light is dimming.

Mother did suggest therapy, thought she would,
how can a mind degree diminish the weight of these boulders
placed on each nerve, rolling back and forth;
on my heart.

Options for relief? Pressures release
may come in a silvery sharp form,
Just one, surely just one would last long enough
to drift this being from the sorrow and shame.
Dribbles at first, then the flowing burgundy waterfall
trickling hands, onto the hardwood floor.

It takes me away
I drift with the ripples, streaming
a wry smile arises and finally: sleep.
Hospitals are all to familiar
that disinfectant odor
and that beep - that constant beep monitoring pulse and life.
Now all to aware of: burgundy falls.