it's the nights you spend up, but letting yourself fall prey to sleep. it's the hairs on your arm that stand up when you hear the most painful guitar rift in your favorite song. it's the puddles left forgotten on your pillow, turned over to ignore.
it's your jaw cramping over and over again while you force yourself through it. it's the stomach growls that turn into wails of disgust.
and when you're lying there on the floor, your entire body sticky with two days worth of sweat, it's easy to feel disgusting.
I have a rotten, sinking feeling in my stomach. The kind that pins you to the bed, unable to get up until you've sobbed your soul out. I'm sad, but I'm not sad enough to cry. I have no reason to. So I'll be pinned to the bed forever.
YOU ARE READING
Open To Interpretation
PoetryThis is a collection of some of my old poems, short stories, and other writing that I created a few years ago, while I was going through a really rough patch in my life. I wanted to publish it back then, but this is the best that I can do for now. E...
