I lie awake and watch the light of
A hidden sun creep its way across
The foot of my bed, probing my
Window blinds to form stripes
Like heated prison bars in a dark
Golgotha where nothing ever grows.
Sheets twisted with rancid dreams
Lay jumbled on the bedroom floor
And it occurs to me that perhaps
Things do grow here in this self
Imposed confinement, a kind of
Malaise that stirs my fevered skull.
And whether I feed on it, or it feeds
On me matters not at all, only that we
Hunger in kind from an aimless craving
To fill this blackened void, yes here, at
The center what I am, restless heartbeat
Like bloodied fists pounding out my eternity.
As that hidden sun crawls towards oblivion.