Mind is tricksy in the morning still littered with dream, wet from the vine. Outside: bird flinching through violescent morning then still still still on branch, staring. Staring at me the me-man all ragged dishevelled. Inside: odorous noticings (scent of grape and sweat) - candle lit to cloak the air.
Too early for wake but slumber gone; struggles in tricksy mind, waited on by guiltful memories - memory just beyond grasp but lying in wait for ragged man-mind's return.
Nicotine stream and in-exhale ex-ingest little white pill for painkill; external bird-song still shrill remains on branch, still a sentry staring, bird view through glass from flat straight on back position lying upon softened soft bed, bird staring at me-man staring back, bird the bad omen in tricksy mind.
Uneasy weightless - waiting - on slept-in bed with candle scent enveloping and slumber distant now, memories returning, taste from the vine mingled now with freshly stale smoke-taste, throat burning scorched and pained but shag smoked chain - lit-up and up in morning: withered lung to match the brain.
Bird still still on branch, staring. Me-man ragged dishevelled stares back in contest, futile hope ridding omen to the sky. Unable in slumber-gone morning to do any other, desperate in attempt: banish mind reminder of stale journey taken from night to morning.
Hanging now in the morning; mind hanging tricksy in the Fear.
Chris Connolly's Every Day I Atrophy is available from the SideCartel through Amazon now.
Chris Connolly writes from Dublin, Ireland. Allegedly he is not as dangerous as he reads. His first collection of short stories, 'Every Day I Atrophy' (the SideCartel) is available now. If you need to know more about Chris Connolly, he has an excellent and excellently informative website here chrisconnollywriter.com
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