Waiting

December 19, 2011
Nothing is real

The grass, trees, sky
They used to be
But now?
They have no connection to what we call
"Life"
They might as well not be there
What's the point?

As the cold envelopes everything
The dark seeps through cracks in sanity

And now...
What now?
No concept of time in this place
Seconds, minutes, hours
All have no significance
Just like everything else

I would draw this world
But my canvas would be empty

Just consciousness,
or unconsciousness?
Does it matter?

Questions

with

no

answers

being asked

out of necessity.

To quell the
need for....

What?

Shadows made with
no light.
Just there.
Or not.
Can't tell anymore.
Too tired to fall asleep

It's quiet
The only sound is my own breath...

No, that's not there either
It stopped, while I could
still see the sun
Before it stopped
shining, warming...

Opposites of this place.

This cold, freezes
from the inside
While the light
leaves your vision

A voice breaks the silence
"Clear!"

Feeling comes back for a moment
Nerves firing a single impulse
One heartbeat

The voice repeats
Louder, forceful

A breath
Another beat, rhythmic now
A rush of blood to the head

and...

life.





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