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CRAWL
A darkened dream. A Sunday night. The moon is high and clear.
She lies awake, awaiting something she will always fear.
Her eyes are dull and lack a glow. Rejected by the world;
And trapped inside a blackened cage, is one, still, lonely girl.
She’s motionless and speechless as she stares at the white wall.
Remembering: Nobody will be there to break her fall.
Her mind is cluttered, running too. Her face is wet with tears.
And thoughts that race at highest speeds put ringing in her ears.
The closest to oblivion that she has ever been.
She chases any once of life, and strives to take it in.
Afflicted, she is more confused than she will ever be,
And terrified, reaches for something she will never see.
Familiar faces flee across her nearly empty mind,
And vast regrets distend her head, and leave all else behind.
A pool of red conceals the floor, expanding to great size,
And thick black drops of nullity cascade down from her eyes.
A small prescription bottle rolls across the hardwood floor.
Its contents now are empty, as is this one lonely girl.
Her heart has lost each surge of strength, and gone into such shock.
Her soul has lost each ounce of hope; lost each and every drop.
An ended dream, one Sunday night. The moon is high and clean.
She lies, now gone, after she’d done what she had always feared.
© Chelsea Lodge 2005 | 
