A sweet peace so frequently desired,
wrapped up in spite of the cold.
No peace at the door
of your ever-waking mind.
No number of layers will stop
the piercing forces which lay siege to
Light bathes you;
Its purity a lethal weapon.
But it's better than the dark,
A whizzing sound, as cogs accelerate.
Unimaginable shapes surf your consciousness;
too big and too small.
The frenzy begins.
Your personal Hell,
lying in wait between delusions.
Can't quite shake it off.
yet you whip up a squall.
the plug is pulled.
I watch you switch off, and wish
this were the last time.
It never is.
© Copyright 2016 Mathew Nicolson. All rights reserved.
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