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Array
(
[sid] => 173550
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => I've read Sylvia Plath til my eyes burnt red
[time] => 2012-08-07 06:57:00
[hometext] => the cruellest illness...
[bodytext] => outside the window. it's cold. its getting so cold at night... rubbing the sleep out of my eyes but my bones didn't get any dreams last night instead I lay staring into the scenery outside and felt that usual nausea when it was morning light as all four seasons pass once more i feel every flower bloom and the winter aches and sores and in summer the nights don't stay long daylight wakes up early But it never rises before me then in spring the clock winds back i think i know what they call me an ...insomniac? its cherry blossom season, its come once again The buried bodies under them... Their blood makes them ruby red and my bottles of empty wine, my sanity, my control,my medicine for the night And i'll swallow myself sick To take the loneliness away Because in the night it hurts.. and the cruelty of lying alone; well, it couldn't get much worse There's something about how darkness fills the gaps of emptiness more; it's thicker somehow; the spaces between us She's full moon once again Luna, she's so pretty Through these hazy darkened hours She is my only company But a part of her is always hidden away Like all of us, in our own way The moon likes secrets And i've confessed all i can say But hers...she keeps quiet She's more of a listener, who patiently provides the only light. Night after endless night; she's the one who waits by my side 'cause when it's time to close your eyes my broken mind just cannot find a dream to hold onto, and let me try to give my tired organs a break from life and theres voices screaming But i'm beyond the point of feeling if you feel you are losing your soul, then you still have a soul left to lose well for me my soul has no use! if life your just barely existing so exhausted you can't see, hear or feel you can't keep up with other's words or try to plant your feet in their world a million veils away from the warm hands of another and if they grabbed mine then i'd hold so tight their wrists would surely break but i know with every night that passes the further you slip away The body; its immunity It doesn't serve you well All the prescriptions in the world Can't save your mind from itself with every night that passes my mind cops another contusion every slight glimmer of hope - doctors, pills the rest it's only another illusion I've read Sylvia Plath 'til my eyes burn red and finished too many bottles to rest my weary head and the tremor, the nerve damage, the constant shaking hands the emptiness inside confusion, and loneliness years of my life, lost to meaningless time when sleep is nowhere to be found the clock gets louder; it's torture! That sound. A sickness so cruel, when you're not allowed to watch your own dreams and nightmares are dreams too..you know so theres no doubt; mine came true and every night out the window i look and wonder which is darkest, the outside? or you. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 172 [topic] => 60 [informant] => cherryamber [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => insomniac )
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