It waits behind my eyes
to knock me out cold, plunged deep
into its blackened waters ---
held under and made to forget
the last dreaded hours.
For when I bury myself
in endless sheets and covers,
I sense it --- hung, suspended feet
above me, like a noose, or a pillow
ready to smother me asleep.
Oh, what I would give
to die in its arms, just for a while;
allow the day's last lamps to flicker out
and slide into unconsciousness
where nothing stirs.
Other times I like to pretend
that my bed is a boat
and the room a sea
to cradle me gently, lovingly
back and forth as I am carried away.
The endless seasons, darknesses
that stalk my waking life
no longer phase me in this
chamber in which I have locked
myself and thrown away the key.
There is a comforting reassurance
in knowing, being aware
that if I'm not permitted to die
I may at least surrender
to the sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Landscapes of the Mind - Poems
Poetry❝ ... abyss without color or stars, black hole we know not of until we are confronted by it. ❞ Poems of life, love, and mental illness not-so-loosely based on experience. ❋ ❋ ❋ © Copyright 2015-2017, by April Nicole Jones.
