january-ish (2015)

attached to my ear is a fog machine, routinely
clouds are pumped into my head. I dread
their presence
for they take. fake. mistake. break. ache.
shake!
why can’t i awake?
am i asleep? weep. keep trying. crying.
am i dying? why-ing? no answers come.
glum. eyes perceive, grieve. no reprieve.
retrieve memories. i can’t. rant. panting
from trying too hard.
fight!
all night, all day, they say.
g  r  a  y . . .