Waking Me Up
My arms windmill, like earth turning
rotating
but still I fall
I feel my ideas melt, butter-on-toast thoughts drip-feeding
drip
drip
drip
Today started early and I felt time squeeze itself into the backseat, baggage and all. I flicked open the ashtray, stared like the rays of sun through snowstorms and coughed as if my life depended on it. Lungs sounded identical to car turning over
and it went back to sleep three times [some thing I dream of every morning]
that’s the cold
freezing
chilly
bitter like lemon juice. Thank fuck it’s not raining. Again.
Doesn’t make the alarm clock bearable.
Doesn’t stop my limbs from twisting in agony, frozen animation, numb.
Pins
Needles
Pins
Needles
The day flows away from me, blood flows around me once more.
2 comments:
A bit more of my poetic prose work.
This describes how it feels to me to get up every morning for work.
I hate getting out of bed.
Especially when I've been dreaming of talking Elvis out of suicide.
purplesimon out...
Nice! Two in one day. :)
And I thought I hated getting out of bed, but no, you hate it worse than me.
Once again, you are among the few who write poetry I actually like.
Good stuff, man. And I like the latest picture.
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