Reset
A hoarse whisper, at 2.49 a.m.
"It's over-it's over- it's-"
There, he is,
in his dark bedroom,
eyes wide open, but seeing nothing.
Fists clenched with sheets, and nails sunk to the skin.
He mutters it, to the locked bedroom door,
as if it's someone who's listening
to his confession, sorrow.
2.50 it is.
A tear, dull and frozen,
falls from his left eye,
just to land on his shaking upper lip.
"It's over- it's over- it's-"
his hair, wet with sweat,
voice rasp with dread,
with a broken throat and a heart,
he mutters the same,
again and again,
in same pain,
same tone,
to the same silent wall.
His over bitten lip,
now glistening in red.
Iron and salt,
mixed in pain.
He feels it.
He cries, finally....
There, 2.55, sleep is crawling,
not a fitful one, shaking, he falls asleep.
3.00 a.m. it is.
DANG!-the alarm..
He wakes up, again.
Just to begin another day of hiding the suffering,
and suffering from hiding.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
