Half AsleepA Poem by Anna
The motel room is warm-
it smells vaguely of cigarettes but that's become comforting. You've been restless, twitchy like a cat listening to the railroad. The sound of the TV is fuzzy at best- fading in and out of focus. My pyre is made of flesh and bones but stripped raw of the things that I call home. I often wake up in the night- heart beating off into streetlights and circling parked cars, searching- but the mirage of suffering is soft. I rarely make any noise of it.
© 2020 Anna |
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Added on December 23, 2020 Last Updated on December 23, 2020 AuthorAnnaRaos Crest, NowhereAbout"I say, Wendy...Always if you see me forgetting you, just keep on saying 'I'm Wendy,' and then I'll remember." more..Writing
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