Today Wasn't The Best

A Song I Sing Too Frequently

In the midst of an eternal night,
My eyelids flutter open to
Cold, harsh
Nothing.

Here I lay,
Shackled by the words of
A shrouded army,
Charging into the
Insurmountable war
Yet again.

The many pinpricks,
The uncountable stabs,
Chimes and incantations
To pull me under the surface

A song I sing too frequently to myself,
Miserable, loathsome thoughts that
I am condemned to cling to,
For the sole reason that
They are all I know.

A melody, concocted from the fumes of
Hell,
Conducted by death himself,
A Greek tragedy whose theater seats
Are barren, strewn with cobwebs
I am the soloist,
Screaming my lines for no one to hear
But me.

I reach out to clutch something warm,
Something to sustain me,
An angel, another being
But nothing.

So I cradle myself,
Curled up at the corner of my bed.
Wrapped in a quilt
But still, unable to escape
The brisk bite of wind.

I clutch my chest,
Checking if my pulse is diminishing.
I stare straight into the stillness
With wild, bewildered eyes.

I know the show will go on for ages,
The song I sing too frequently