my stomach twists into knots
and i grip the sheets tighter
with my sweaty palms.
i toss and turn for hours on end,
glancing up at the digital clock
on my old bedside table,
letting the red numbers ingrain
themselves into my decaying brain.
i bet if the nurse cut my skull open,
she'd find flies swarming around
inside my heavy head.
it'd explain why my thoughts seem
so cluttered lately.
there's no room left for him
for it to be comfortable anymore.
YOU ARE READING
the remains
Poetryspontaneous poetry written while overcoming some of life's many obstacles. ❝i cried tears you'll never see, so fuck you. you can go cry me an ocean and leave me be.❞ ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ COLLECTION NO.1 #125 in poetry © wraiths™ 2015
