life in ashton by Tamra Smith

I sleep sometimes in a wet field of flowers

At one with the earth

muddy

damp

sludgy

slippy

fleshy

warm

I watch away time ticking by

Dreams

nightmares

some kind of reality that melts into itself

and fades away

like the burning embers of a firefly

Spilt salt

stings my wounds

I float upon a dead sea

I settle like dust floating in the vacuum of the universe

empty

cold

silent

still as death itself

Yet the twenty four hour muscle

still beats

Like the tick tick ticking of a clock

that never stops

like angry ants marching

beyond eternal bone

Ignorance is no excuse

trapped in this small town

Mentally baked on the inside

without decisive decisions made

insane

Rolling in a fishnet laughably feeling secure in knowledge

Not knowing when you’re gonna die

when the axe drops

when the heart stops

stopping at great speed

I stumble past the mortuary

Hail stoning

I hear the workers laughing as they

wheel round bodies

Silence fell upon them

As i peeked in