Closed down for maintenanceA Poem by MinorArtSomething Hank Moodyesque
Millionth hour of the night
It's dark It might be midnight But I wouldn't know I lost count Of all the hours, alone, awake Of all the tremors that made this bed quake My bed has seen a dozen faces Faceless bodies worshipping till light A thousand drops of sweat, tears Satin, skin and laces Men I couldn't stop kissing once So many scents Of sweat, sex, cologne and lies Ache-stained pillows Drenched in all my misplaced lust I'm in bed with all the ghosts Memories afloat, my stomachs in knots Deafened by echoes of all the heartbeats Pulses that quickened at my touch Stuck to these sheets Thickened by 5 minute loves Sticky, sweet Blood boiling, swirling, head rush Empty bed but no place for me To lay my head in peace and hush My bed is an abandoned battlefield War wounds left under my skin after defeat We fought until someone died, no sleep, no retreat Lovers, lifeless, now piled up next to me Nameless, my night guests lay there, cold and neat My bed is a coffin My bed is a store bought Christmas card Generic, impersonal scribbles within With silly doodles on the front Blanks filled in however we wished To's and From's if it didn't mean a thing Jokes and kisses for the special fling Clock is ticking Millionth hour of the night And I'm sleepless, sinking Cuffed to my bed by the dreams of an insomniac © 2015 MinorArtReviews
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8 Reviews Added on May 6, 2015 Last Updated on May 6, 2015 AuthorMinorArtUnited KingdomAboutI'll stay up all night, with Rock 'n Roll and blues, drinking to pretty words more..Writing
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