Head pounding on the pavement
As if it were a basketball,
In some sort of insane game

Lights fading into the
Cool morning air,
Sounds fading into nothingness;

Till a siren shriek breaks through
Slowly even this falls away
The narcosis of pain,


Almost all is void of life,

Slowly sleep subsides to the stench
Of a hospitals brand
of disinfectant.

After the rude awakening
To this putrid Smelling clean,
Yet only half awake.

It's as if a Mack truck were on my head,
I'd like to somehow turn off this smell
And tell the world to go to hell.

Only half there...
And the other
Who knows where,

In this twilight of consciousness
I don't really know who I am,
And part (or most) of me, doesn't care.

by: Ralph Woestemeyer