Wednesday, 22 March 2017

Worrying About What Might Be Impending

As night-time sets in the room,
All about is impending gloom:
The shadows I have to beware
As I sombrely and soberly stare.

The voices speak, boom and bark
As I trip and search in the dark -
Staring into space at ghosts of the past,
A chilling experience to hauntingly last.

I communicate with the TV, a grim reality
Of a grave gravity of insanity -
And as I deliver, I gander in wonder
And ponder as to what lays on yonder.

I am prone to torture myself, and self-harm -
With some trying respites of chilling calm;
And as I wrestle with my consciousness -
In comes the torment of aggressiveness.

I become my own victim, a prisoner,
And sit in a godly pew like a parishioner -
As an alter represents Mother Nature
A recurring nightmare of torture.

Copyright Andrew Stevenson 22/03/2017

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

No comments:

Post a Comment