white inkblot
she stopped writing poemswhen she realized
my body just hurts;
everything is hurting.
(sometimes i stared into the mirror
and traced the center with my fingertips
trying to press into an unknown chamber
of my reflection. something to help me break free.)
i don't even know what i'm running from;
a trembling body
counting pills, palms shaking.
the same curtains and white walls
adorning this funeral ground.
i'm waiting,
waiting waiting waiting
waiting help me
Poetry by anguisette
Read 761 times
Editors' choiceWritten on 2008-08-07 at 18:59
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