Posted in life, Poems, thoughts

Sick

I stood to stare at my reflection in the mirror

but even she was not there;

run away to another place,

to a banquet that would curl itself in the hollow of my stomach,

she left me alone with wobbly knees and the disinfecting smell of bleach.

 

I sat to wipe away the fuzzy darkness

that had  wrapped itself around me;

I fell, crawling across the carpet

to give up the dry bread I had slowly eaten. Hollow stomach.

The warmth made night return, I fainted into the disinfecting smell of bleach.

-Eva M.M.

-I guess this is what happens we you are sick. When you finally have enough energy to type you write a poem about losing your dinner and lunch. Wonderful, right? Well, thanks for reading, I really did try not to make this a gross sick poem.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow,my ink would cease to flow.”

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Author:

I am the author of 1withthepen.wordpress.com and am currently working on a book of poems. To find out more check out my about me page as well as my page about my blog and welcome to the ink angels community.

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