Laying on his face, piercing eyes and a frown,
Trying hard to get his feet off the ground,
Marks on his face of the no sleeper,
His thoughts get deeper,
But his mind keeps spinning around
Pointless events and occurrences,
Things that remind him of how much worse he is,
When his head isn’t focused.
So many assaults on his thoughts,
He locks himself in his own prison
Of concentrated depression,
All stored somewhere behind his forehead,
A subconscious enough for four heads,
And he keeps putting all the stress
Somewhere behind his chest,
Able to push down but sometimes not back up
The things he keeps in his mind.
Dark street, quick feet, blind me,
Fearing all the things I cannot see,
Feeling a shiver down my thighs that
Collides with my legs throughout the knees.
Staring ahead without my visual glass,
Paranoia forcing my feet to move fast,
And I can’t help but peering around
Any and every single corner I pass.
Trampling asfalt and looking around,
Nervous footsteps provide me with sound,
Yet some level of assurance attained when
A few steps later my safe haven is found.
Seeing an older woman along the way,
Walking calmly as if it were day,
She already knows of the late night streets,
But I’m still hoping she gets home okay.