The door
Wooden, mahogany, hard
Knock
Knock
Knock
I don't like that noise on the door.
It's scary.
Horrifying.
Terrifying.
I don't like the feet that step through those doors
They always enter with something to tell.
I don't like their voices.
It's loud.
Excruciatingly loud.
I don't want their words anywhere around me.
Stop
Stop
Stop
I'm not pretending. I'm not lazy. I can't get up. I tried. Why not believe me.
Stop talking.
Don't say anything.
I'm not a disappointment.
Just stop.
I'm trying.
Did you not see?
Stop it.
I don't like this.
You're being loud again
The sun doesn't like the commotion.
We just woke up.
Stop.
Please.
Just.
Stop.
You're being loud again.
I can't breathe again.
My dream is vanishing again.
Stop yelling.
It's only 9am.
I don't like that noise on the door.
It's scary.
Horrifying.
Terrifying.
I don't like the feet that step through those doors
They always enter with something to tell.
I don't like their voices.
It's loud.
Excruciatingly loud.
I don't want their words anywhere around me.
YOU ARE READING
Bottomless Pit
PoetryThis is a book of short poems that I occasionally write. They don't really have a specific type, just random emotions that I feel are portrayed here.
