little arrows

I go to sleep

in a bed of lies

that slide uncomfortably

between my skin

and the sheets

sometimes out walking

they pull faces at me

from shop windows

drawn in the condensation

of the misty glass

they cannot be collected

boxed up 

and thrown away

when I do try

they slip through my fingers

laughing spitefully

it seems more and more

their sinister numbers 

are growing, encroaching

on my sanity

a reminder of temptations

past and present

one day perhaps

they will be strong enough

to overpower me

stealing away my conscience

eating my morals

and corrupting my identity 

Reviews

[FireWoman]

Reminiscent of Sylvia Plath here, very deep.

[Robin]

achingly beautiful opening stanza , one can feel the barbed points of memories in your words ...