One memory from my sleeping

When the blues come, a cello plays under my skin. A mournful dirge that sinks me into melancholy, pulling me in and under my someone. And somethings.

I know all about sirens and their rocks, I know about the luring. It could be so easy to listen to that music on repeat, to follow where it leads. Deep and down into the caves of my subconscious, where all the words are hiding.

Where I smash against my fatal shore, and I am one memory from my sleeping.

I can cross oceans, I can follow the curve of the moon, and blink under building lights that shame the stars. But when the blues sing me through the night, I am back at my beginning again.

And you are still there, waiting.

On the Rocks

Sleepless in New York …

Advertisements

8 thoughts on “One memory from my sleeping

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s