It's too warm
Yet any fewer layers and I'd be exposed
- exposed to whom, of what?
If this is what my nights have come to;
blurry eyes and a busy mind, I think I'll pass on another one.
With heavy eyes I succumb to sleep;
an escape - except not really.
It's just as dark, as close, as lonely.
Warm and wet it travels down my check.
I wake and wipe the sole physical reminder of my constant mental torched.
Days, weeks, months... years pass
The cycle continues.
... sleep still doesn't come easy.
YOU ARE READING
Victim of Lethologica
PoetryA collection of poems that are written by me in order to express my thoughts in a way that is not entirely original; or basically what I can't say out-loud.
