Thoughts swirl; twirl slowly, beautifully, poisonously
Coil prickly thorns of unrealised dreams
Around my throat
They smell of fragrant herbs, taste like unpolluted pain
Feel like the tears that might have been; had they not been
sucked internally by the parched soul
Achy reflections chase the mind
Lassoing it with languid, smoky exactitude
In their clutches my essence lies, limp
Straitjacketed in the thick drapes of darkness
Loneliness, once an ally
Now, a folly
A moment of quiet
Is not to be
The mind rages with angst, yearning
Bitterness at the sorry, black pool
In which the spirit writhes like a fly drowning in snake’s
venom
Longing for that calm
A dream that drifts farther every day
That dreadful orchestra of thought
Draws my core in, whole; spits it out in ravaged bits
The thick sap of contemplation coats them
A thin layer, for every passing day
Slow imprisonment
Its amber my spirit will be, one day
Its slave in death
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