The way I set up my days
is suicide. It’s excruciating,
the numb and dull drone
of the hourly sirens
—help is not on the way,
so don’t expect
your world to lift a finger,
let alone lend a helping hand.
You
are
being
consumed
by
eternal
quicksand.
The time I fill with odd thoughts
and no ends—well, this time,
I aim for murder.
I watch my shell
and wait for the day I shed
—an impossible renewal
and the conclusion
I forever dread.
Give
me
a
good
reason
to
get
out
of
bed.
|
Submission Name: Deathbed
