January 18th, 2009

The window was open,
blowing the curtains.
Fanning them out like my hair
on the hospital pillow.
The moon’s rays race through,
eager to show off the
thousands of diamonds
littering my floor.

I walk to the window,
the diamonds becoming one
with my feet,
with soles of sinking sand.

The edge of the pane
bites my palm when I
lean against it,
but I feel nothing,
its jagged teeth biting.

The morphine is in my blood,
and the path it clears is the only thing I can feel.