Sink Poem by Martin Byrne

I tell you
And you hold me
Blanketing me in something
More quiet than sound
Louder than Echoes

I don't feel anymore

You take me
Sweetly sleeping
to the back of my mind
To the basement (or attic) of my heart
Where childrens' spelling blocks
Wait to be played with
I go, I go, I go

I go to anthills
Then molehills
Then to ever rest in peace

Peace, I find here
vacuum sucked into
Your laundry shoot
Hold me tighter
I'm half way in
And the door is closing

Voided blackness
I fall into
My dream, My nightmare, My sleep, My peace

I hit the empty laundry bin
the bottom
you release me from the embrace
Like you release an Olde English 40
After you have reached its end
The bottom

Flying up
I've flown the coop
Run chicken run
Off with my head
I'll still run
Unless I look up
At a rain storm
To drown
In your dirty clothes

A place, I never will be again
The coop
Laying eggs
Run chicken Run
Before the rooster catches up
Slices off your head

Open your eyes
Good morning
Wake up, get up
Look at the forecast
For your ever-gray day