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I can't breathe.
The hold on my throat grips tighter and tighter until I just can't take it anymore.
I wake up.
It was just a dream.
So why do I still feel as though the devils' claws are tightening their grip around me?
Though I'm sitting here safe in my bed,
why do I still feel like I'm getting choked to death,
why can I hear the brutally increasing rhythm of my heartbeat in my throat?
Maybe I'm choking myself, making it as though I can't breathe.
Though my eyes remain dry and my cheeks remain unstained.
I guess my mind is trying to kill me.
Or maybe it was the man in the picture beside my bed,
The grief of losing him could be suffocating me,
It's been five years,
so why now, why now whilst it's dark and I'm trying to sleep?
Just leave me alone, stupid, stupid grief.
YOU ARE READING
The degenerate way of life
PoetryDifferent situations affect people differently as not one person reacts in the exact same way as another when confronted with what life throws at us. Sometimes it's easier to write your thoughts down, thoughts of anger, sadness, happiness, just anyt...
