The Warning Sign

Left alone in a dark place
In the corner of a dream
Penicillin grace
In the air turns frost on skin to water
Absence of daylight
With the curtains open
A simple token
Of loveless affection to this woman
A complex woman
Who fell asleep on the sofa
She tries to forget her whole life
She doesn’t like to think
Of the strife
That faces her in all the walls closing in
Portrait of malice
Dogmatic dependency
A painted fallacy
She hides behind in her fantasy world
Her fingers curled
Around a bottle of liquid

Left to cope with mental absence
With a glow before her
An incandescence
Displaying kitsch, violent pornography
Vision of illness
It fails distraction
Her attention a fraction
Of the cranial power she used to yield
When she could feel
Feelings instead of just numbness
Her eyes are smeared with black
Eyeshadow present for years
Destroyed by tears
Shed as she counted her losses and grief
Pillow of hope
She tightly embraces
Her many faces
Shiver and crush in perfect unison
Drink her medicine
It tightly holds her hand

Left with special medication
The Jezebel that guides her
A substitution
For her swinging emotions and habits
A bottle of blindness
Its genie is bright
With pretend sunlight
Around her a dusty terrifying threat
A mirage silhouette
Of whiskey bottle skyscrapers
She follows a yellow coloured road
In search of her lost courage
In her own abode
She prays to a god, but does not believe
Loss of faith
Still unconscious
Still promiscuous
Still paralysed like a voodoo doll
Vomit smeared troll
No movement ever again