“How do you sleep after knowing you have wrecked a soul?”
The mirror with uplifting Post-its is looking
at me with pity that curls up under my eyes and
whimpers how the 13 hours of slumber weren’t so sound.
I warned them I was concentrated chaos contained in a vial
The lowermost drawer of my desk is trembling
as if the handwriting it stores is going to unravel and
embrace my neck so I lack of air in a brimming atmosphere.
I told them I wouldn’t turn to milkshake if they scribbled ‘Sugar’ on a
striked out ‘X’.
The pillow beneath my hair astray, is vomiting
out tears from a time when I was not the monster and
I feel myself drowning in agony which doesn’t belong to me.
I reminded them, that if uncorcked, I would flood every vein with an
but they did not listen.
So now, to me, the Alphabet Song escalates to agonizingly disturbed harmony
as it reaches the letter third from last and
that, my friend, is the lullaby
that puts me to sleep.