Microwave

I felt so cold,
that I couldn't even breathe,
and you didn't check up on me,
or ask if I was okay.

My sheets felt like quick sand,
contorting my bones,
until I finally sank to the bottom,
and you never noticed,
that my broken body,
couldn't even get out of bed.

So when my winter ended,
and I didn't call you;
it meant that I was thawing out skin-first,
and you were never there,
to nuke me back to normal,
on a rotating glass plate,
before I boiled over.

Reviews

[Kurayami]

This poem is very interesting. I quite like it. Short but meaningful. Great job!

~Kurayami