Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Hassled state of balance
the monotony I live makes me hefty
layers of Mondays & Fridays
It arrives sporadic and automatic
this pitiless word will break something
this unwitting ailment is taking over
and this will kill me soon
and send my soul to hell.

Soul, is it my mind?
Body, it’s not mine to own.
She helps or rather sets trap,
I see she is trying fraught,
before it shrivels and droops.

I wonder if death be like sleeping.
Would hell then be a nightmare?
Maybe I’m in a dream,
to wake up to something new
for now I’m trapped like any other.