The Living Room

Turn on the screen, lean forward with eyes sore
Thoughts melt and my sense of time distorts.
Between the grey pillows, inside the sofa
A monster pulls me in and I sink.

I recall a rouge sky, raven branches waving in a rhythm, roots that are supposed to be
underneath,
Instead ran like veins in the heavens
come summer they are ruins.
or it stretched like routes of some kind of city system up above,
The crows gawk, I knew why,
I was the capital.

A tug and familiar touch with a warm voice telling me to listen to their words,
but my body stays paralysed, eyes pierced on the moonlight ,
the yearning light.

Finally dozing to a show about a Katanga,
They show their teeth too quick, if not fed then pacing,
Such irritability.

I return like time never gave me the chance of years that flew,
I was promised eternal youth, what in hell am I going to do?
Now I can say the paper never came down short,
I gave my kids better days, I showed them. 
The quiet one testifies so, the one that on all occasions
Remains blue.

I wish you would of read into my drawings more,
the ones you threw away.