Shane Ward- Age: 20

December 9, 2008

Insomnia

The best I confide in you.

What's solemn and true.

Horde of zombies.

Methodical pity.

These four walls follow me,

To my past; chambered key.

Sanskrit grit and gardened truths,

Feigned reluctance and soothed.

Tablets and runes. Circled cocoons.

I've tried the books, but ended too soon.

Impulsivity keeps me here, swallowing,

Lump of confession keeps me wallowing.

I'm eating my fingers, I'm taking Glass anatomy.

Little by little I'm performing a lobotomy.

Cold sodomy and warm feet, though empirical,

But all wishful thinking and "hope" is satirical.

Grasping the arms of this ravenous raven,

Under its hood I find shelter in a stone haven,

As I pick up the pieces of a forgotten tomorrow,

I take a pistol revolver and drown in its sorrow.