Alone.
surrounded by walls of laughter.
clutching the pillow as a wand of defeat
a fountain of pain squirting at his face
The never ending torment of the other birds.
Empty.
Shallow words dripping down his spine.
Cold and bitter; silence
the laughter echoeing in his head
#the thrushes the seagulls and the rest
Isolated.
A hollow feeling deep inside.
No one to turn to.
no source of strengh
the pool of happiness replaced by a well of self loathing
Lost.
Nowhere to look without seeing terror.
Images of hate flicker on the walls.
Ashamed of the past and how he got here.
The darkend room seems to be laughing.
Hollow.
But The face looks the same.
It smiled in the past.
Memories of happiness.
are faded and far away (like a 16 mm celular film that no one remembers)
The present looms.
I crouch alone,
the bedposts creek.
The silence drones
You can't uncover my mind
My thoughts a prisoner
to the actions outside
I reach out and want to touch
a paradise that isn't there.
It can exist but I'm blind to a path
i'm washed up and nowhere
Wishing wont make it happen
but i wish it would
I wish I was there already
not limping along on the stoney journey
But here I am
in my howling shack.
a dark inside
not on the map
Lost Emotions spiralling up.
no attachment to outside the room.
I'm trapped in this place
locked deep below my surface.
The other birds have done this to me.
dumped me there from my modest flat
But as time drifts by
I might wander back
A sledgehammer to the head
A bird alone in a tree
or could it be a house
or could it be your house
and could you have put up the walls?
blow them down.
nov 99 I thinks