Unused Painkillers

Drinking from a glass filled with pain,
Gradually slipped back to all that i ran from.
Silence has crept in, only a faint sound of drum.

My ink has gone dry like the heart of Twain.
My thoughts i can’t collect in one piece,
Few seconds life denies access to peace.

Like trees losing their leaves in autumn,
Slowly swaying in the wind till i hit bottom.

Lost in my thoughts on a mission.
It’s not a new story, only my edition
Of how i got caught up in my head,
With no desire to live, i swore i was dead.

Victor Oyedele