The Sidewalks of My Mind
I attempt, on occasion, to sleep, but every second falls like a softly ticking footstep on the crooked sidewalks of my mind. They march. The footsteps --they march. . . and I listen to them march to the beat of the tick, consistently upon the inconsistent path, or rather, the incomplete path. Everywhere in the walkway are gaping holes, opening widely for the fast approaching, evenly ticking steps. For days the footsteps are lost, ticking in the empty holes. . . they generally come back out, but every so often another tick is lost. . . and another step is unmade.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick . . . tock.
After-note (10-13-06): If anyone wants a background to this... well, I was kind of going a little crazy second semester of Freshman year. Part of it was that I had bronchitis for three months and the doctors kept putting me on medicine for the wrong type of bronchitis. Just about all of the medications made me crazy, including the stuff that worked.
And yes, I sometimes heard ticks as I went to sleep (my watch is digital, so no, it doesn't tick). There you go, you now know my inspiration: I was crazy. Unfortunately, my other poems do not have such an excuse, unless you believe that I'm currently crazy (it could be argued... but no, I'm not crazy).
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick . . . tock.
After-note (10-13-06): If anyone wants a background to this... well, I was kind of going a little crazy second semester of Freshman year. Part of it was that I had bronchitis for three months and the doctors kept putting me on medicine for the wrong type of bronchitis. Just about all of the medications made me crazy, including the stuff that worked.
And yes, I sometimes heard ticks as I went to sleep (my watch is digital, so no, it doesn't tick). There you go, you now know my inspiration: I was crazy. Unfortunately, my other poems do not have such an excuse, unless you believe that I'm currently crazy (it could be argued... but no, I'm not crazy).