This night his mouse trap didn’t work,
the noise, instead of putting him to sound sleep brought him memories of regrets.
Inside of a melody never heard he saw a multitude of shades of grey. Naively the
man though he could keep sanity and not drift away wasting hours away. The drum
found its pace with his heartbeat, the guitar chords made friends with anxious
fingers and the bass, like always, felt misplaced, just like a lunatic working mind.
Without a doubt he was bad tripping over
oxygen, the worst kind, the conscious way of mind wandering. I would wish him
well, try to help, but it’s too late to be rescued, the man is already in
yesterday land and his pillow can`t bring him comfort, can`t undo his wrong
doings. I could wake him up, but his
eyes are pealed to the wall, felling the music, thinking of it as a lifesaver
when, in fact, it’s just an anchor. I could turn on the lights but I`m afraid that
the colorful bright light will burn his eyes.
All left for me to do is to seat,
and watch him to lose himself in self-pity. It’s weird, I can see a frame
around him, maybe metallic, maybe wood, but it’s definitely a frame. Weirder
still is that his only reactions was when I frown in recognizing the frame… he
frown back.
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