Sleep claws at my eyes,
hammers itself into my head,
deprives my body of life and slows my mind to an agonizing crawl.
And yet, despite its presence,
and despite my wish to be lured into the dark abyss,
the sirens are there.
Singing.
Calling.
Screeching.
Yelling
the dangers that lie beyond the black.
Beyond, beyond, beyond the black,
beneath, above, and around the illusion,
lies the sharp jagged mineral,
waiting,
waiting,
waiting,
to pierce through reality,
and let the realness bleed to death.
And it hurts.
It ruins.
But you can't run from it,
can't ever hide.
You only have to accept,
because it's not optional.
It's life.
YOU ARE READING
Emanations Of The Heart
PoetryΞ if actions speak louder than words why is the pen mightier than the sword Ξ
