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| Topic: Medicated | |
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The orange pill makes the bed
a trapdoor. I’m swallowed by the floor into dreamless sleep. The night is an unnerving tunnel of lost time. This life is a spongiform brain. Six hours drain away. It’s time travel. My legs waver when I wake and stand. Thoughts unravel. There’s the blue light before dawn, a mariner’s mirage of land. Anything could’ve happened when I was gone. My feet are out of place on the floor. The door swings as I list and catch the wall. In the hall there’s long exaggerated blinking. I’m sinking back. The drug’s still soaking cells. Each morning I look back at the pit, sit on the porch, watch the people drive to work. Each day’s a picture with holes in it. Nights awake have been excised. With the evening pill I ask “Is this better? These hours the mind dies?” |
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Awesome!
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awesome
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nice
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Great descriptions throughout...one line struck me as so horribly sad-don't know why-it just did
"Each day's a picture with holes in it." (((myanimalcracker))) |
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The orange pill makes the bed a trapdoor. I’m swallowed by the floor into dreamless sleep. The night is an unnerving tunnel of lost time. This life is a spongiform brain. Six hours drain away. It’s time travel. My legs waver when I wake and stand. Thoughts unravel. There’s the blue light before dawn, a mariner’s mirage of land. Anything could’ve happened when I was gone. My feet are out of place on the floor. The door swings as I list and catch the wall. In the hall there’s long exaggerated blinking. I’m sinking back. The drug’s still soaking cells. Each morning I look back at the pit, sit on the porch, watch the people drive to work. Each day’s a picture with holes in it. Nights awake have been excised. With the evening pill I ask “Is this better? These hours the mind dies?” (((myanimalc))) finding a perfect rest here... 
inspired..."while you were out" and "the procedure" |
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 ((((K))))
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Thank you
Jason
jimz
ddn
pkd
Harold
Bill
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The orange pill makes the bed a trapdoor. I’m swallowed by the floor into dreamless sleep. The night is an unnerving tunnel of lost time. This life is a spongiform brain. Six hours drain away. It’s time travel. My legs waver when I wake and stand. Thoughts unravel. There’s the blue light before dawn, a mariner’s mirage of land. Anything could’ve happened when I was gone. My feet are out of place on the floor. The door swings as I list and catch the wall. In the hall there’s long exaggerated blinking. I’m sinking back. The drug’s still soaking cells. Each morning I look back at the pit, sit on the porch, watch the people drive to work. Each day’s a picture with holes in it. Nights awake have been excised. With the evening pill I ask “Is this better? These hours the mind dies?” Ah, there's my talented girl~Excellent piece.
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Ms C
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I hope that what has taken you away will allow to return. If you feel a need to have someone listen to you, PLEASE email me and I'll be your ear.
May GOD help you find your peace.
This is a great write.. 
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Wow, fantastic emotional depth
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Great write...((((((
))))))
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