Mind Far Away

In the black-eyed fever of the jagged night.
Spurned by the moon, stabbed by the light, too twisted to think.
Too raged to sleep, too far gone to mend myself.
In the dead silent vacuum that conceils me.
So cleverly betrayed I make vain excuses rail agaisnt life.
As I lay in the razor dark ship-wrecked hell-hole.
On my sweat-soaked bed I watch my one last hope slither out of sight.

by cheyenne cooke

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