It stands right at the corner,
At one hand distance,
Of the vicinity of his frail body,
Eyeing with an unwavering attention,
Afterall it's a prey, fallen to oneself..
It stares at him,
As he keep sinking deeper,
Drowning into his bed,
That resembles to be an altar,
Ready for a fresh sacrificial ritual,
It never looks away..
Scared little children,
Run around his room,
Carrying the years full of dreams,
Years that are still not forgotten,
But smudged under a thick fog,
Where they lie cold and rotten..
It watches him twist and turn,
Now sitting on his chest,
Pushing his breath back to,
Where inflated lungs asphyxiate,
On the broken bridge he dangles,
A body neither alive nor dead..
It chokes him as he tries to speak,
Words are forbidden even his screams,
No human is capable of,
The intense gravity that he keeps,
He knows it all too well,
It revels in his torment,
With every passing cloud,
As he tries to sleep..
Every minute passes slower than the last,
And yet he loses the track of time,
Breathing horror into reality,
Slowly drags into his overactive mind,
How to imbibe the spring when,
The zephyr is calling the cries of a child..
