Prickling
The ghosting sting of my fingers
Clenching crescents.
The moon blinks, and lights flicker
High above my head, those weeping wishes
Wallow and wail in the dread of night;
A lethargic dream
Slothful, and sallow
Whispers these things to me;
And slivers of fear slip unnoticed
Into my room, through the cracked door
Where the moon's reflection spills onto my floor.
A lethargic dream
Slothful, and sallow
Whispers these things to me:
Weaves trickling tales of my shadows
And whittles me to its own image.
I sleep still, writhing in my skin
And I sleep still, writhing in my skin
YOU ARE READING
Nonsense
PoetryAn infinitely growing collection of poems that are written spur of the moment as a result of whatever phrases or ideas are floating around in my head on a particularly productive day. They will rarely, if at all, make sense. (These poems do not hav...
