Infinite Sheep
A reflection on lost possibilities
As lightning strikes my thunder cloud eyelids,
dreams laden with heavy rain
repeat reels I reason keep me sane.
Gathering grains of silicon sleep,
this static soul sits, sifting sands,
drawing dreams of distant lands.
I,
lucidly inhabiting imagined isles,
learning muscle cannot lift sleep
just as sleep can’t count infinite sheep,
open eyes to darkness.
There, in the stillness of the silence
my lungs allowed to breathe,
I allow myself to grieve.
About the Creator
Ashley McMahon
Aspiring writer, lackadaisical poet, disappointed idealist, formerly gifted child.
Trying to unlearn the lie of wasted potential.
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts5 days ago in Longevity
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