Waking Up Still Alive in a Pastel Gas Chamber
The melancholy of a lifetime hums,
Hums silence into sadness, though a mild
Kind, in the velvet sunset which becomes
The sum of all the wounds your beds compiled.
The noon intensifies the wounding if
The melancholy lingers till the day.
Depression builds, too deep, becomes as stiff
As condemnation far too hard to weigh.
If sorrow then persists until the night,
A thing as harsh as grief begins to press
Down like a rapist, one you cannot fight.
Inside your slavishness you acquiesce.
..A sunrise comes but then, so what? You lost.
….By then your inner self knows holocaust.