constructing armageddon?
i awaken
on a bed
in a room
on a floor
in a house
empty cold alone
i beat my alarm clock
to fight for more sleep
to avoid the thought, alone
stagger out of bed
the only way
to approach the dreaded day
read the paper
eat a cheap breakfast
a little television, perhaps
a rushed shower
and off to work
or other business
whether enjoyable, positive,
average, negative, irking
it builds up inside
begging to be shared
and, as a result, released.
i return
through the door
into the house
down a floor
in this room
and on to bed
still empty.
still cold.
still alone.
each day absorbed
in through the last
a gnawing hole
this swirling mass
constricting density
towards critical fast
empty. cold. alone.
and when is this past?
“and so i sit here through the night
and i rock myself to sleep
and time keeps ticking…”
-queensryche, “silent lucidity”
- undated, probably 1999