My soul hurts; no,
my mind hurts. Nah,
it's actually my head.
Yes,
I'm tired and can't sleep.
Lovely,
isn't it?
I mean,
my mind knows what is good for it,
but even so,
it refuses to receive the pill—
it refuses to sink into this old new world
that we all call
sleep.
So,
I'm left into a swirling world of colours,
waiting—
Waiting—
Waiting for the sleep
to steal me away
and lock me into a far away castle,
in its highest tower,
isolated from this worldly place,
where I can finally find some peace.
YOU ARE READING
Compass To My Heart (Wattys2015)
PoetryAs the song continues to play, enchanting my senses with another collection of musical sounds, I continue to dive deeper and deeper into thoughts, leaving them astray, to the point where I reach a state- n o o n e actually understands. ...Not even I...
