They say the shock makes you tired.
Stumbling drowsy through haphazard facts
The reporter mouths empty words on the screen
They replay in a loop at night.
Distant words she can’t quite make out
Seeping distorted onto her pillow as she sleeps
Eyes ringed and lashes dewdrop silver
Pillow wet with black exhausted tears.
The midday sun burns through her wall.
A lazy wood pigeon cooed
Reminded her of school playing fields and snow white ankle socks.
Of old perfume bottles and a silver hairbrush
But that was before all this.
Before the tiredness came.
Before the carpet sank beneath each step
A lethargic grey glue.
Before the gnawing and the lurid dreams.
That came each night at lights out.
Gazing listless at a wide liquid world
Lights fading on a blank ocean
The whales drowning in her head, their song fading in her ears.
And that reporter again.
There are no hours left in this day.[wpsr_socialbts type="32px" services="facebook,twitter,googleplus,linkedin,stumbleupon,email,rss"]