I want you to read to me when I’m sick;
Lying in bed, tossing and turning,
Heart racing and head spinning,
Vision shaking and hands quaking.
I want you to gently sing
The psalms of old poets to clear
What’s left of my mind.
I won’t be angry
If you cover your face;
If you call this a contaminated place.
I just want you to brush matted hair aside
And say ‘I love you’ one last time.
Sometimes I find myself lost
In the corners of the mind;
The deepest recesses of time.
Wandering far and wide;
Fields of glass
And rows of bouncing lights
Ricocheting from galaxies.
It’s always night,
The rain is always cold
And I’m always alone
With only a shadow to call home.