3:14 AM — thursday september 30th
the night won’t end. it stretches, thick and sticky, like something rotting under my skin. i wake up but i’m not awake, not really. the dream slips through my fingers like cold water. a shadow sits at the foot of the bed, faceless, featureless. i feel its breath. it crawls under the sheets. it’s heavy, it presses.
it smells like dirt. damp and earthy, like worms. i press my hand to my chest, feel the pulse struggle, frantic, then slow, slow, slow. am i dying? maybe. i don’t know if it matters. there’s always this — the stench of something coming apart. i can feel it in my bones, cracking, splitting open.
i dreamt about the apartment again. the windows boarded up, dark, sealed tight. everything inside crumbling, walls caving in. it used to be full of light, but now i don’t remember what that looked like. the sink dripped, echoed. water pooled in the corners, making the floor soft, soggy, like it’s giving way. i think i laughed. or maybe i screamed. either way, the sound was swallowed up by the dark.
my body feels wrong. out of place. too big, too small, stretched too thin. i stare at the mirror but it won’t look back. the glass wavers. my reflection flickers, a static blur. i poke at my skin, expecting it to peel away. nothing. not yet.
i hear the birds outside, but their song is wrong. sharp. mocking. like they know something i don’t.
maybe they’re waiting for me to decay. maybe we all are.
3:47 am
the clock ticks. but the time never changes.
YOU ARE READING
sombre
Poetrynever-ending‚ never still. the fear‚ like thorns‚ does swarm‚ a fractured mind‚ forever ill. ﹛ scraps from the void ﹜
