Mornings

It feels unusual to open your eyes.

In the morning glow, thats blinding.

A slow rate, accelerating like your being reborn, like your entering heavens gates.

It feels colder to open your eyes, as if the person you were yesterday died.

Now resurrected as a new being.

The world is slow.

Quiet. Only the sound of inescapable voices.

Unable to move. Unable to speak.

It feels like a day closer to death as I open my eyes.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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