i pushed my problems under the bed,
"out of mind, out of sight," my mother always said.
under the bed where all issues hide,
where my dreams and wishes come to die.
i shoved them away, into the dark,
where the only sound was a solitary lark.
my pile just grew larger and larger,
with problems roaring until it could go no louder.
when there was no more room to be had,
i suddenly felt very sad.
for how could I hid things under the bed
if every single little sneeze,
scattered strife into the billowing breeze?
and with every sound I made at all,
screams were heard through out the halls?
their whispers fill my head, preventing any escape,
and now it unfortunately seems of late,
my pile has grown to epic sizes,
and as my dread spikes and rises,
i now feel the very worst,
for hiding from something with a unquenchable thirst
that will never be filled with even my corpse
and none can save me, not even one white horse
but in heart the truth is shining,
and there is no use of hiding,
when you battle your own mind,
and you turn into a empty rind.
i will never again see the light of day,
because my own demons have come to play.
from under the bed they have come,
to take me with them, and then some.
i pushed my problems under the bed,
but now I am the one being pushed instead.
fin an: Deadicated to Ms. Lawrence, the person who gave me this prompt. Thanks!
