insomnia

insomnia

the pale moon is dying somewhere in agony

a slow death.

 the night bird chants from the darkness

like a medieval monk,

 touched by madness,

over the black death.

I taste it,

death,

on my lips,

distant, a billion years old.

it tastes like iron in my mouth

corroding enamel.

mouthful of saw dust.

the pain condensed,

liquid salt rolls down

heavy.

I’ll go blind, waiting for you.

 the moon still dying.

the sinister bird sings a requiem.

stars light up brighter, in preparation for death,

fools getting ready to be born.

I peer into the darkness

looking for you

c:Nina K Orlovskaya@ 9/9/2012