I put it in the drawer, the thing that killed me.
At night, i heard its lament, lulling a plea.
The thing that killed me fed on my tomorrows,
so present days feel like woes.
The other day i heard its screech of claws on a timber,
I thought i was sober.
Pills did not help.
I have knelt on thousand shrine,
Hours praying to the divine,
Nothing kills the thing that killed me.
Please…
these feet are aching of the crawling and the dragging, away from reality
this little heart is weary,
because each day,
the thing that killed me took a shred of soul within me,
Until i am not more than atomic dust,
clutching the wind,
drifting by the sea.
