The edge of the mattress
seats my brittle, crouched over body
Or maybe a corpse
rotted by the swirling troubles
that dizzy such a potential mind
into a useless blend of mess and worry
And the heart, left so empty
after the pathetically desperate offers it chanced for love
for a core to this depleting vessel
But now left more bare than the farthest of trenches
or the frigidly dry desert winds
More stale in my sleep than the powerless sands
whisked by its ruthless wrath
The slumbering visions
so personally horrifying
The void that infects my soul, so closely as exhausting
as when they end with my eyes' opening