Winter Nights

In the dead of night, a time closer to sun-up than sun-down,

He starts the herculean task of hibernating in the cold and dark wilderness, until the world lives once again, in hopes of getting picked to play along and enjoy the game of life.

 

He had filled his stomach, with what the frigid island had to offer. 

Nothing of sustenance, only substance.

 

He had kept his mind busy long enough with the TV, that bedded down on his mind, like an obnoxious and ignorant animal, turning grey matter to mush, all in an attempt to stall self reflection long enough to sever connection from the awake world.

 

He gets changed, with a hint of dissatisfaction, and repeated 'I haven't been to the gym, I really should go back again.'

 

He looks around in his night stand for a charger, in the slew of memorabilia from his past life. 

Pictures, letters, trinkets from a different time experienced by a different self.

A distant relative who lived happy and carefree from the nothing he felt.

On top of his past memories was a heap of clutter from which he tried to build himself.

 

Boxes from watches, meant to display place in a pecking order, not lost time.

Shoelaces incase the originals broke, even though long before that happened the shoes became outdated and old.

Fake jewelry, used in an attempt to con people into believing something dark could shine.

 

Artifacts of a ritual garb that changed with the seasons to ward off demons of self-doubt.

None of it was successful, no matter how much he spent, no matter the amount.

 

But on top, sat the most helpful solution.

Sleeping pills, the most used tool in the drawer.

 

Because for awhile he could dream. He could experience something golden, something happy, something good, even if only a forceful facade.

He could dream of a bright and vivacious Spring,

Before Winter came again.

 

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