to all the hues in the twilight grime

it has been monotonous, simply dead.
the back aches in agony, only to have the heavy shoulders accompanying
the eyes further swollen in fatigue
somehow,
the cold bitter weather managed to cripple the immunity
and in the darkness
shivering
sneezing
i pulled through the sleep

whirling
jargons oppressed the mind
time taming the wounds
but the physical, defenceless
conscious of occasional cries bottled inside
somewhat compromised

and
the day rides on
smirking at me

"Imagine a whole lifetime of dreams and ambitions and hopes dissolving away in one instant, being blacked out like some arithmetic problem washed off a blackboard by a wet sponge, just some little accident ... ."
-- Tennessee Williams, Sweet Bird of Youth