21 April 2015


I have trouble maintaining eye contact
lucky if I can hear half of what's said
you'll find me in constant conversation
thanks to the voices in my head

I became one with the shadows
where reality was dangling on a thread
got accosted by visions of mutilation
the black in the sky was a murder overhead

breath cut short, inhaled dead air
it was toxic, saturated with dread
I felt infected, highly contagious
a host to a virus that I quickly spread

Copyright © 2015 by Patrick B Vince

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