Great Forces


I pour out my senses
To where I-
In a white room
With a pen in my hand
I lie sideways where my feet
Cannot touch the pale sheets
Of sickness
And menthol
Uninterrupted 
It is as pleasant as it is dry
If curtains were drawn
I could bleed
Because outside these walls
there is pure terror
of depth
That bland curses cannot cure
and endless does not seem 
To help anymore
I am between drowning
That I could see my reflection
Far away,
Away
from hopeful dreaming.






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