Poetry 25 - Morning Mourning

Morning Mourning

The atmosphere within these walls concentrates on my shoulders and back,
pinning them to the padding beneath.
Sunshine paralysis.
Piercing the consolation darkness,
disturbing unconscious effective thought to arise
effective action.

Movement is painful, arbitrary, reasonless,
yet its emphasized, so-called “importance”
terrifies me.

I am sweating like 21^st Century polar ice caps,
so pay no mind.
There is comfort in heavy cotton,
and I’ll weather the heat until I melt,
as long I don’t move from this space.

There is no cosmic mandate
to do anything.
I will lay and procrastinate and starve in this bed,
if I may? –
as long as I do not leave this space.

Scrape
me off this mattress,
I am the roadkill of my mind.
I am the culmination,
of too much and too little.
I am the unbalanced standards
in a southern education system,
a national downfall.

Fall,
into my slumber,
because I can’t spring from every
existential crises which overtake me.
If I don’t burn to death,
these conditions will force me to freeze,
just not in this space.
As long as I do not leave this space.

That intruder – that light,
burning my eyes.
I swear,
it’s like window-shopping
in a crowded smoke shop.
It’s like a knife of brightness,
is stabbing me to breakage,
and stopping finally,
but only so I can witness the damage.
I turn over.
I pull over the covers.
I am unharmed,
as long as I do not leave this space.

Dear God,
take my thoughts, take my brain.
Peel me before I wake,
because I am unsafe here.
I am in an agreement,
to which I never signed.
I am in a world with two options:
I can live or whine,
live or whine.

Peel me before I wake,
for I may not do so.
Peel me before I wake,
for I hold a broken dynamo.
Peel me before I wake,
because for god’s sake,
here is the only place I feel safe,
just as long as I do not leave this space.