Within these walls, my blue cocoon,
climb dirty plates and coffee cups.
My paintings hang uneven, slant,
on crumbling walls, whose cracks i feel.
A button's pushed: the T.V sleeps.
The metal God sleeps standing,
as a ghost of night that dreams of days
on an unmade bed in limbo lays.
Beneath the sheets my shadow rolls -
I twist and turn in turmoil.
My pulse pumps out a beat beserk.
In a sea of sweat i'm drowning.
© Copyright 2016 ben hardstaff. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Travel
Poem / Science Fiction
Poem / Humor
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