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 a young and enthusiastic writer, fresh out of highschool and into college at IUSB. I babysit and work and live life to it's fullest. I write. I read. I do yoga. And plan to become. Yoga intructers as well. I grew up on a farm and can't,t wait to move back to the country in my tiny house I have already planned out. Sometimes I'm a little melodramatic but rarely. I'm a spiritual healer, a hopeless romantic, a book worm, and very nostalgic. Thanks for stopping by.

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