Self Suffocation

9th hour of the night,

Still not tucked in tight,

The bags sagging from carrying

The weight of my head.

A pale, luminescent light, lingers

Only as long as my fingers

Swipe to their hearts delight.

With one lung, the world is perfect,

With myself as the sole anomalous. 

With another, death and destruction reign as prefects,

Delighted with the drug of the outrageous. 

All air accessing the heart are

Defiled, deprecating, demons;

Causing ourselves to seem stuck down with tar,

Forever apart from the Lord’s pinion.

Strapped down in my chair in despair,

The electric pulse at my tips, 

I search for one last thrill or some care,

Before closing forever these lids.