Page 58 - Labyrinth--Suburban Stardust

Rarely did I ever speak. Shock was far greater than that of a squealing pig. Here I lay in a bed that is not mine. In soft, serene, sickness does silence bring its favor to me. Candor is my loyalist, oh how warm do I feel. The ticker in the bleak silence rained down. Morning comes with nothing more than an unreachable glass pane. The view of fog does fill my eyes as I grow closer, oh how warm do I feel. Their eyes drowned, as mine did not. Their hands shook as I wish mine could. Their pupils stared off into the heavens with their gaze of hope, as I did not have. Oh how warm do I feel. Sound slowly muffled, as heard by the silence of the strong rain. Oh how warm do I feel Screeching did sound the beep beside me, Quicker did it grow as speed did slow. With intention the white coats did rush, Oh how warm do I feel. Deep indentation into my soul I did speak. Cold did the world seem, Darker did the room become. The Screeching turned to a soft constant, The bellowing pain of a thin line on a digital screen. Oh how warm do I feel.
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Poet: Henry Pastenes