How can I sleep with madness sitting on the side of my bed? It's almost 5 a.m. I am here, a sponge of caffeine. Ian curtis whisper through the phones speakers, his spirit drifting aimlessly across the room. In my constant wake I dream the girl I killed. Lately more often than ever. These sheets have been smelling so clean for the past year. Smelling of sterility, of hospital beds and lonely old age.
A wave of blood floods my mouth. Liquid iron down the throat. Gingivitis for the biting animal.
I put the pen away and head towards the light switch. My heavy breath subsides in the early morning light. I will not find joy in sleep only delay for the engulfing emptiness.
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