I wrote this poem (and this one) the day before Spirit entered me. I think that’s interesting.
Changes need to get made.
This bed I laid in
Is disintegrating under the weight of time.
I will walk no further into this darkness sublime.
Drink this world full of worlds, their bitter irony.
Medicine tastes like poison, poison tastes like honey.
Waking up is hard to do, and getting up, well.
Guess I’ll push my spade and grimace in this sunlit hell
(Another day, another delusion
To hack through the confusion)
And sleep my way through wakefulness,
Sleeves rolled up and focused,
Undreaming, grim and conscious,
Sharply coiffed and well groomed.
Too long, didn’t read?
This should get you up to speed:
A man ripped from the womb
A little too late, a little too soon
Sets fire to Elysium
And walks out of his bedroom.