My Sentence

I look at my picture

Taken just a few minutes ago

I don’t recognize myself

Who is this unhappy man?

 

My hair hurts.

I run my fingers

Through my scalp

Grasping and pulling

The tortured, graying strands

 

My eyelids heavy.

I lay down on my cot.

I can’t sleep.

But I can’t move.

Laying there for hours.

Until I feel the devil

Grasping and pulling

Me down where demons dwell.

 

Startled at the reality

Of this living hell.

Can’t escape the reality

Of this living hell.

Resolved to the reality

Locked in my prison cell.

Never again to hold

My sweet, sweet Annabelle.

 

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About oxrider

Mr. Winter has written novels, books of poetry and short stories, and books on acting. He has written over three dozen plays, winning the S.C. Playwright’s Festival. His inventive theatrical work has been seen in the US and Europe. A.F. Winter has been acting, teaching, and directing, for over 30 years. He created a theatre which worked with at-risk youth giving them positive alternatives in their lives. Please visit his website at AFWinter.com. View all posts by oxrider

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