Good Morning

A crane is needed to lift her head from the pillow

The larks and starling songs pierce her eardrums with their irritating melody

She lays on her back with arms either side and legs spread

Leaden head and limbs paralysed with apathy fear and dread

She should get up and feed the child who is crying

But now the insidious darkness has lowered the volume of everything

And she can’t really hear the screaming, hungry tot

As he flap his legs within his baby white cot

Her brain is void of thoughts save for ones of dying and cutting flesh

She yearns to score her wrist skin so she can feel life pain

But her legs weigh twenty stone and she can’t rise

No arms or fingers can work, all succumbed and paralysed

After a while she thinks she hears a bird and whooping child

She crawls out of the pit to a hint of fresh air

Daylight shines through the window onto her face and she can lift her arms to her head

Back to the living once again, back from the brink of the dead...