Gasping seems to be My coping mechanism. If I’m struggling To breath then I know that things Around me must be solid.
Perhaps it would be Best to feel something for once. Feeling experience / Feeling a touch of the wind / Feeling the tightening cord /
Objective: A dream That can take root in my mind And perhaps go on Beyond the moments I lay Catatonic in my cell.
My punishment is A taste of the freedom that I deny myself As I chain myself to the Anchor of doom plunging deep.
If I am guilty Of a crime against myself The evidence of My wrongdoing will be found Playing over and over In my long recurring dreams.
Slow clouds crawl across The unblinking moon’s vision Blinkering it from My night time crimes committed Against myself yet again.
The making of me, Weak little parts that were stuck Together with glue, Fails now because it’s cold and I’m slowly peeling apart.
Each diminishing Moment rings even clearer, So simple tonics Mingle into complete chords Of harmonic renditions.
And I am reborn, Like the Moon each evening, Mirror for the Sun, And bringing a new full night Into which I can retreat.
“It’s a morning thought,” A fully clothed rabbit chuntered. I eyed it slowly, Noticing how its grin sloped And fire crackled in its eyes.