Absent Jitters

A poem dedicated to a decadent man

A prisoner,

Captured in the chambers of my heart.

But I’m the one enslaved,

by a world that cannot start.

 

The memories, like veins

are encumbering chains.

A pulse retained,

But little else remains.

And the only means

To fully amend,

Is to count and listen

 

for the beating to end.