Waking up late
The sun already floating high
Dreary eyes quickly solidify
Stumbling around unsure
Towels slide off the racks, hit the floor
Never had a great start
Hair gross and sticky in my eyes
I see the light bouncing around the walls
On this spring morning
Elegant sun, meek and modest
Shining it's beams with no
Heat
Fill up my body
With vital morning fuel
And leave
Immediately
Walking alone
Too much to think about
Shivering trying to clear my mind
But making even more mess
The coldness stabs me
But I want to get stabbed
The morning dew soaks through my shoe
Sleeping through my skin and capillaries
It's an infection
But I want to get infected
The grey wins battles my back
Throws me upwards
But I want to get thrown
I could barely even wake up
Now I'm out here
This pain is addictive
I'll keep coming
Back
First world problems
What do I seriously have to stress about
Nothing
The pain of the guilt
Is worse than the pain itself
Nobody has pity for me
Nobody should
So I want to get hurt
By this god forsaken morning
It might
Wash away
Just a bit
YOU ARE READING
Bonded With Tears (7)
PoetryA poetry book. A semi-story based loosely on real life events, mainly my emotions amplified on paper. Also linked to the idea of homelessness.
