cold and wintry night

A snapshot of depression.

The city sleeps in silence
like the houses of the dead,
a poison in recession
reclaims its razor's edge,
In this room, this cell,
rising above the street,
with hands tied in knots,
words too vulgar to speak;

and in this time so holy
when the wind blows through the trees,
and the snowflakes fall
to meet the ground
and build up to your knees,
In this contemplation,
these story books untold,
to be shackled up in shame,
imprisoned in your home;

to know your nature well:
a leaf hung in an autumn breeze,
to relapse is to relive
a fairy tale - diseased,
On this virgin morning,
with no promise of the dawn,
to see no new beginnings,
to sing begotten songs:


"I..
I swear that you,
You set me up,
I took the fall,
Lord, I took it hard,
I took it wrong

And I,
I swear,
I'll sober up
when lying eyes
are burnt from my memory."