Surreal and tenuous grasp on reality.
Eyes struggle to relate to the mind,
the earth spins and with it time.
What melancholy covers mirth?
Pull it off my soul,
this blinding control
the clock has over freedom.
Landscape stretches ahead.
The dark of night has had its say.
The challenge of the new day
lays before, draw a breath -
smoke burns my eyes and fills my chest.
Red blood wine pours down my throat,
It fills my brain's crimson mote,
numbs my soul so pain grows dim,
this is the saddest requiem,
be still - wait - time will pass
and end this melancholy mass.
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