My Day of Bed Stricken Pitty and Realization of Self Awareness

I am on top of a bed, in a squared prison pinnacle of six, in the place of simulated money, and glowing loss. To my right rests a buffoon filled to the brim with bottle, mind of sick, and family in thought. To my left lays an empty bed, where there is no other kind present.

I currently yen there was not a presence to my right either. No man to disturb my day of drink and relaxation. The night brought craze, and I am in need of rest to cure the soul. No peace will find me here while this man plagues me with his ever lingering slur.

 

I wish I were under a winding knotted tree, nestled on a blanket of green, the blue abyss covering the space of my peripherals, with reaching beams of color parting the leaves, and a slight kiss of clear pressure. A particular dreamy escape, with the best ideas of truth and non-fiction.

 

How I did find comfort in the braces of your arms, warmth through your touch, protection through your height, solitude through your companionship, and love through your fathomed cares of benevolence.

A place that was not dreamt, but a feeling that was forever such, a forced emotion and none ever shared.

 

I feel I am in a prison of white, with the increasing dusting of chilling powder, and the choking vise that calls itself a wonderland. No warmth lay around in color, only the sleek silence of an overbearing binding that causes my heart to guile heaths of ice.

 

I am here in body, in a rise of six floors, in the place of chips, and slots. To my right sits a very drunken brethren of mine, beer in clutch, and stupor in eye. To my left falls a barren field of sheets, where there is no other tolerance present.

I currently fiend for an existence to my left in recognition. No void to interrupt my day of collection and remorse. The past towed pain, and I am in need of clarity to cure the soul.

No peace will seek me here while this void festers with its ever lingering obloquy.

 

I wish I were an unyielding contortion of strength, comforted on assurance of self, the future to come to past with no blindness, with reassuring grips of life to part the dark, and a love from whom is of truthful intent.

 

How I do find amenity in the gird of family, endearment through embrace, havened with amnesty through the bigger picture, equanimity through solitude, and devotion through the exhales of those whom breath me.

A place that is and was not dreamt, but a feeling that will forever be as such, a force of emotion and life that shall ever live.

 

I feel I am in a mind of new, with the lessening peppering of obscure perception, and the shepherding palm that calls itself faith. No frost let deny the vivid, only the polished stone of an opal rouse that causes my heart to let tumble and yield shine.