There's something hiding underneath my bed.
Its breaths are shallow, cold like icy frost.
My heart beats fast and clogs my veins with dread,
It pays no heed, like I'm not worth my cost,
As if I'm something to be bought and sold,
An apple filled with worms and bits of rot,
Not even equal to its weight in gold.
I run, I hide, but it is all for naught,
It breaks me under the weight of the world.
It has no form, no mass, no teeth, no claws,
My anxious thoughts, around me they have curled.
It grips me tight and drops me in its jaws,
It swallows me and then consumes my soul,
While caring little for that which it stole.
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I Hate to Rain on Your Parade But I'm a Cloud That's My Job (Poetry Chapbook)
PoetryA collection of poems that don't really follow a theme at all. Some might be sad, some might be happy, some might be inspiring, some might be funny, most of them are entirely subjective. Some are very short, there are several haiku, but groups of th...
