Standing at Dream's door II

 Sitting in a chair a dead man owns, his remaining life will be, with the chair, by the drugs, by the window, with the endurance of time.
 
 Nodding as if in understanding, sleep. He drops into a hidden darkness, a veiled shroud. Then as the moments pass, a spark  jerking him aware, back into a world of unyielding sorrow, his realization of the times.
 
 Like in the shards of a mirror are reflections of life. Reflecting in each piece a reminder of a time less lived, each face frozen with the agony of a lost soul in time...
 
 He calmly slowly reaches to his drawer of hope, enslaved to the many spirits that inhabit each potion but drawn to them like the need of his affliction are drawn to him and desperately needs him.
  
 All my moments forever lost, he thought,  he began slipping back into the arms of Morpheus to the safety of darkness, to the edge of dreams! A refuge from the world and from an illness that will consumed him in time.