i am exhausted.
my skin is as tired as my mind,
my bones hallow enough
for a breeze to blow
and still rattle them noisily
creating an ailing symphony
of pain, of old agei am only 19.
but everything feels grey.the locks on my head
are shedding and collecting
gathering around my feet
and as i peer down at
them with glassy eyes
i realisei am sick.
i am sick of
feeling up and down
when i want to be the same
i am sick of
being told i'm losing my mind
constantly wanting to be sane
i am sick of looking behind me
wishing i could change
i am sick of writing poetry
only when i am in paini am ill
and i'm twice my age
YOU ARE READING
nostrum
Poetry‣ nostrum noun { a medicine prepared by an unqualified person, especially one that is not considered effective } - = ≡ ___________ [ previously published as " pills and alcohol " ] ◂