Like a switch turned off.
The phosphene lasts forever.
Scattered and blurry.
The conversations,
from mundane to important
have ceased to exist.
Unrealistic dreams,
words I'll never hear for real,
a jarring wake-up.
To keep your secrets,
have internal dialogue
alienates us.
How they just creep up.
Some good and bad memories,
just to turn and shake.
Hard to look at them,
my photos from the last year.
The smiles, now frowns.
Now, for the first time
have painful, throbbing migraines.
They are beyond cruel.
The darker the day,
the longer they seem to last.
An eternal black.
Used to be so warm,
then all of this had happened.
A frosty icebox.
The same Brooklyn streets
are now redefined patterns
of yearning and loss.
Looking for patterns,
like fine stitches on a quilt.
Yet, all is static.
Dying to be back,
to my self. Normality
seems light years away.
Heard of the headaches,
had never felt them before.
Pain you can't explain.
Alien city,
far detached and more removed,
as if it were Mars.
Frayed bones and a heart,
lean towards some type of flame.
Or at least embers.
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