"Insomnia inspired"
by Jake the Scribe
He hangs in a meadow.
spinning effortlessly in the melancholy breeze
Comforted by the soft light of the moon.
Cigarette smoke flows endlessly from his mouth.
Grey ghosts fleeing from their capture.
He respects the silence here.
the overwhelming joy of simplicity.
He opens his eyes.
He awakens.
Midnight showers.
Morning tranquil sun light.
washing off the night that ran rampant before.
On his wrists is a message.
Wiping away the sleep from his eyes, he reads.
"Every living creature dies a lone"
Eyes blank.
Corpse incapable of feeling love.
He rises.
like the second coming of Christ.
Reaches for a photo graph of his night stand.
Partially torn on the edges.
Lacking symmetry.
Character in abundance.
Somehow dull.
Warn.
Accustomed to viewing sunsets from the insides of leather wallets.
This is therapy.
He mutters from parched lips.
Hands reach up to feel the trademark of his manhood.
Scruffy beard.
A neglected friend.
Standing in the the presence of the mirror.
Staring back at him is a man of 40.
Crucifix hanging from a sun scared neck.
Resting softly on his chest.
Today, he breaks the cycle.
intricately shaving away years off his body.
One stroke at a time.
Standing before him is a child.
Young.
Bold
Reckless
Atheist.
Aesthetically perfect.
Away he walks from the mirror.
Clinging to his car keys and the scent of cheap liquor on his breath.
He drives.
Home is where he was headed.
But even those details have been forgotten.
Drowned in the sea his destiny.
Endless waves tossing him to the floor.
Where he sits waiting like a submerged stone.
Rising from the depths like a leviathan.
The wind kisses his brow.
Stained with intrinsic beauty.
wrote this for not the way it sounds, but the way it felt to say. not for the meaning, but for the act of writing. to be heard but not felt. to be contemplated but not analayzed however u spell it
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