meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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from the tomb of three days sleeping



they're talking about me
like I'm not here.

moving in circles where
I no longer exist.
what is this?

where am I?

its peculiar to feel
so self-aware
when I'm not even a shadow
nor a shape in the
background where the wind
moves through.

just
simply not there,
not anywhere.

where did I go?

why do they whisper?
why can I not make out
the breathy words they speak?

silent worlds make me
feel a whole lot less comfortable
although I am erased from
any place my eyes
seek.

odd.
what's going on?

there's a raising of cups
the joke's being explained
but I am not here to share in
the laughter's refrain.

there ,
over in the corner
two eyes are peering out from inside
of a box.

how electric a shock
to be
silent
to be
so not around...
questions pour out
of me in
an avalanche.

when
echoing, in the distance
a shrill alarm clock rings
and I arise almost Christ-like
from the tomb of
three days sleeping.

no box,
still fully assembled.

I've been
dreaming.


Copyright October 11, 2013
Melissa A Howells
All Rights Reserved By This Author
Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World





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