Hunched over this spiral notebook tightly, I write
Wondering when Death will take his next bite
Of my soul
I’m withered, I’m worn, and still not whole
Wrapped in warm blankets, I cringe and toss and turn
One moment, I shiver; the next, I burn
With feverish heat
And I keep hitting the wall with my feet
I try to breathe much slower
To bring my heartbeat lower
But there is always something on my mind
I think and think, but I just can’t find
That peaceful place which puts a smile on my face
Instead, I consider my disgrace
My fall
The decisions that cost me my all
I watch the horridly inexpensive shows that are aired at night
And think to myself, “It’s just not right.”
Finally, I again turn on the light
And continue to write
Write
Write
Someday, somewhere, someone will wish me a good night