Something

Rambling of a lady who needs to go to bed.

Dear mind,

Where are you?

Dear heart,

Why are you in such a numbing pain?

Dear soul,

Have you left me cold and a stranged? 

Nothing the absents of what,

flashes once held closely to a breast.

Mass that may fills a void that seems to never left.

Comforted by ones own breath.

Tick tock, the sands like ashes fall.

Reach, run, try,

still abruptly it seems so plan.

The same melody plays,

fingure tips bleed out just not the same.

Flying moon they say they touched.

Still of breath,

light showing its pocks. 

Alone appearing, in a crowd so small.

Just mass, or matter, that is all.

Author's Note

Dyslexic