A mirror of self-induced anesthesia.

Reflections of mostly empty moments,
a collection of "what once was",
still full of sunlight, haunt you.

With vague stares your eyes dart and twitch,
dark ravens of mind
searching for coherent memories
of happiness, ripe berries to pluck from
the blurred gray backdrop of life. You barely eat, or care,
subsisting on the grapes of solitude,
anything you microwave, pour, or eat
straight out of a box.

Once green house plants struggle near dormancy,
easy life compared to sad dogs loyally waiting
for attention or a walk.

The humming lights and electronic babble
accent gathering balls of dust,
stale air, and countertop stains.

Pungent vines grasp and choke,
yet another slumbered night
as purpled eyes fall,
dreaming to awake.