Between the hours of 4 and 9 this morning
A cowardly black cloud skulked down,
Right into my stomach,
And sprung out through my eyes
Onto salty wet cheeks.
Octopus-suckered across my chest,
Contracting, and forgetting to remind me
To force the air back out that I had pulled in
Through my restricted lungs.
In the carpark everything went a shade of
Inky midnight. Blinking is a chore, a laboured
Effort to drag my heavy lids back up after
Every fall. Though these moments aren't wasted, my brain will fill them with saddening thoughts.
As simple as right, left, right, left, was yesterday
It now becomes a harsh demand,
Right, left, breathe in, right, Blink, left, right, breath out, left, Blink.
Between the hours of 7 and 8 tonight,
I will soak down into my mattress
And remind my shivering being
That today is rare, and will be gone tomorrow
And walking and breathing and blinking will be natural again.
That this dark cloud is fleeting, and my body and mind can survive these hours of monotone living. •
• stole some footage from YouTube that someone probably stole from someone else •