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I apprehended the window breaking,
And I awoke from my,
I was in a puddle of my sweat and tears,
Shirtless but still counting sheep.
I sat up looking around.
Unable to find a broken window.
Had it been all a dream?
All in my head?
My brown hair,
Flops down a mess.
My forehead covered,
By the mess of a Mullet I had.
My bare, toned chest,
So cold, I could only shiver.
Unable to move and grab the cover,
I stay, freezing.
The cover only up to my waste,
I seem stuck,
Awake but not awake,
Asleep but not asleep.
I seem to be still counting sheep,
Like I did as I was younger,
Still unable to sleep then,
Just like now.
My six friends never seemed to care,
When I awoke scared,
From this nightmare.
I only panted,
Laying in a puddle of sweat and tears,
From the fear of my nightmare.
Though some days I still hear,
You're pretty, high-pitched voice,
That is a noise of unfamiliarity,
That finally triggers my Singularity.
YOU ARE READING
My Poems
PoesiaJust a place for an aspiring Poet to place the thoughts that pop into her lonesome mind. Don't worry, I'll do my best to not make you cry.
