The bellow of the giant next door to me keeps me tossing.
My mind is a landscape of anxiety and serenity.
The cool calm breeze in the fields.
Tall trees and stoic mountains.
Interrupted with the effigy. The burning man, The sacrificial Lamb
The mountains ooze molten earth.
The breeze brings the smell of ash and the soot stains my face.
My bed, was once a welcoming friend.
I now see that there is no salvation there. No hope for rest or solitude.
I can see the dull glow in the seams of the mattress and box springs
This is not my home.
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