The slippery fingertips of familiar creatures
And comforts clutch at her eyelashes.
A siren's call to slumber
Echoes through the rustling of sheets
Through the pitter patter of
Thoughtless thumbs skittering over
A darkened screen.
Engaging night mode,
She eludes her own lethargy;
Weary eyes strained wide,
She substitutes infinitely numerous sheep
For the rabbit hole of the Instagram scroll;
For the wickedly woven cocoons
Of the big wide web.
That's the beauty of the net:
It's all fun and games
'Till the spider comes.
YOU ARE READING
Just A Depressed Teen 'N Her Poetry
PoetryI hope this finds its target audience, though I hope you are few and far between. Here are some poems of mine about the not so glamorous depths of my mind - enjoy 🦭
