In the dark of the night time
In the cold of my bed
In the moments in between
When the feelings are raw.
When my mouth is slowly drying
And the words rot in my throat.
And the dreams are dying
Like autumn leaves falling in the breeze.
And I can’t unfeel what I’ve felt before.
And my belief is crumbling,
Oh so many nights of tears and dust.
Then there’s this feeling I get
In the pit of my stomach.
A chill like a knife blade
Twisting within my spirit and guts.
When I’d scream
If screaming counted for much.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.