An old poem

A random old poem from Dec 2000

It’s twelve o’clock the witching hour, is it today or tomorrow? As today melt in with yesterdy, am I sleeping or awake or does it even make a difference. I feel time ticking, almost pricking, a tedious needle in my brain. Probing, piercing me from dreaming, it’s almost as though I’m fast awake. Minutes to hours, hours to days, I drift in and out. To leave or stay. Waking or sleeping. My thoughts start to break, into small shards of glass that fall to the ground. melted into a puddle they drip from my lips.

Awake and  I’m shouting, who am I, who’s there. So I’m here now today, or is it tomorrow. But where have I been? Why am I here…..where is here? I continue to wander from daylight to night, each moment to moment takes longer than the last and the world keeps spinning, I think I’m still breathing. My heart feels like thunder and bursts from my chest. I gasp……

and then I wake up.  -REC


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