The small dots of light sprinkle the dark sheet of sky
And my eyelids fall victim to exhaustion.
My mind is snared
And dragged against its will
Into the same damp, endless rabbit hole.
As I spiral down
Through the thick clouds of smog
I catch glimpses of the cold, mud-caked
Corners of shattered, jagged frames
Break trough the wall’s surface,
Reflecting broken light into my eyes.
The torn photographs
No longer comfortably in their frames,
But floating through the haze,
Contain moments that demand remembrance.
Old, worn out toys and teddy bears
Poke their heads through the dirt,
And glare at me with their forgotten beady eyes,
And follow me as I descend.
Sooty, golden watches hang limply from roots
Not ticking, but laughing at my pleas
To escape this frozen tunnel.
My cheeks sting from the miles of cold, musty air
That sit calmly, disturbed by nothing
Except for my presence.
White roses painted red,
Lie at the bottom,
Ripped from the soil and left to die.
Their thorns threaten me
And the bloody anticipation
Gnaws at my heart.
As I get closer and the details become clearer,
I can see the red paint chipping from the delicate petals,
Your treacherous effort wasted,
And revealing the now stained white.
I wait for the end of the tunnel
To engulf my fragile bones,
But I do not hit the bottom
Until a rooster crows,
And the sun burns my eyes.