Accurate

It hits you in that one second you spend

Sitting on the edge of your bed

And suddenly you feel the insignificance

Of your life burning slowly into your skin,

And you long to take that final bath,

And you secretly choose that knife of yours

That cuts into your flesh down to your bones.

 

So you stop conversing with the world and

All the other spheres that surround you

All you can do is appreciate the city-lights

That you have come to loathe and value

In all their vanity and luminous glory.

 

And you long to keep that breath in your lungs,

And you secretly choose never to exhale

while your head is up in the clouds and underwater.

 

And you lose your dignity, you lose control,

and you open that window into your soul, the night

that will embrace you in its stillness

and will never let go of you again.