Dead Air

 
I miss the lullaby breeze
Crashing into eardrums
Filling me with dreaming
Pitch black moonlit novelties

I hate air without a pulse
Reminds me of sad times
Which confines and flatlines
Ancient language for bad times

I like getting lost in waves
Unannounced stowaway
Something in the ashtray
My mind still thinks it's Sunday

I grieve for possibilities
Only mourning the loss of one.