I sit in my chair and wonder
If the walls of my life could speak, they would crumble and weep
Moments of anger and moments of desire, emotions matched and fused with fire
The fire of passion from the fruits of action
Or non action in the case of me, sitting in my chair, lonely
I, terminally ill, but sober still
Fatally wounded, and self-persecuted
I sit in my chair and sunder
If the walls of my life could listen, they would hear the cries of my prison
Indulging in my moments that seem to come and go
But as they leave me, I feel my breath slow,
And deeper still
It lets go
Poem Credit: Me
Photo Credit: Me
