November Again.

Published November 2, 2012 by April Fox

this is when the darkness crawls in
through my eyes, making pupils grow
darker than normal with no sunlight anywhere
nothing reflecting, the night
settles in to my bones, through my pores
makes my blood thick and slow, turns my lungs
to cement
i can’t breathe
and the clouds gather, silently mocking
creating a haven for chill winds and bitter cold
i am gasping
for one
last look
at the sky
and i will mark off all the squares on the wall
turn the pages of cheap dime-store paper in hope
that there’s hope
in the passage of
was created
to make us all
suffer, a game that we play
mindless, hand-clapping, rote recitation
it’s time
to hang on
and the silence is broken, though effort
i hardly can spare, making faces that look almost normal
the words, almost just like the ones that i think
i should say and i’m left
at the end
worn out, shaken
it’s too much, it’s never
i can’t say
and the silence is
the silence is
all i can
and the small hands that reach for me
i can’t let go
they are the brushes that paint my existence
nothing is real
their perception
without their creation
of who i should be and that place
right beside me
just to the left of a
time-worn tattoo is the
light that shows everything
painted to life.

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