i wake up
to the sound of sweat
on my bare back
dripping in fear, measured
across eternity's time-piece
i smell the taste of
my loneliness
at the pit of night
filled with gleaming meteors
i gasp for the touch of fresh air
and find it has slipped
through that window of guilt
i peer at the clock
dark, melancholy bringer
of sorrows
and there is yet time
to feel fear
there is yet space
for want, and popcorn-crunching
movies in plush multiplexes
but there is no want
the want has escaped
with the nightmare
leaving a chill on my bed
