on dreary days
like this
the thought travels
with every
stinging lash of ache

maybe i died

expired
just a spectre
of promises dashed
malingering
in this too big bed
staring up
at an uncaring ceiling
for eternity

the ache
an anchor
keeping me tethered
to a plane
where i never
truly
existed

outside sirens call
a strange
whoom tiss
an iron lung
perhaps
a great mechanical heart
undercuts the static
with a sullen song
of surrender