25 January 2013
Cold.
I need to see where I am.
I should be in front of the mirror,
Standing tall or maybe slumped over.
My head rolls to the sound of swishing,
And a pain shrivels in my skull.
It's white like the purity of god,
But that siren is the devil.
Cold, I press to this surface,
And blink again and again and again.
The floor?
The Passing.3 • Opuss № I