In The Mourning

My eyelids feel like they won't open, but it's a customary phase. When everything I know seems foreign to me as I focus on my gaze. Remnants of a prior evening blink like shadows on the wall. Color moves across my ceiling and ricochets on down the hall. I think my nerves have all but failed me, 'cuz I can barely lift my head. My fingertips just shake and tremble wicked, on the floor beside my bed. It almost seems as though I'm floating as I stumble toward the door. My feet are moving in their own direction. They don't even touch the floor. I want to touch. I want to breathe. I want to feel. I want to see. As I look into the mirror, my reflection seems no more. I try my hardest to retrace my steps back to where I stood before. Words can not explain my feelings as what I saw went through my head. I saw my body laying lifeless across my room, atop the bed. I want to touch. I want to breathe. I want to feel. I want to see.