By: Anyssa Q. E

 

The days press me,

into fine grain.

My nights suppress me,

and poison my brain.

 

The pendulum of dreams,

so slowly it swings.

Trailing stardust and worry,

and hope as it seems.

 

It reminds me of a time,

Where time was far gone. 

When humanly essence

ceases with  forlorn. 

 

It's been 16 years....

Already the mortality squeezes me...

I find myself disconnecting,

Not moving quite easily. 

A winter of the psyche. 

A shedding of the mind. 

Losing the last piece,

I could once call mine...