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afraid of the dark

of_the_girlof_the_girl Posts: 745
edited September 2004 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
tumbling out of my dress
and into my bed
it's been a long night
a long, sad, and salty night
simple little blanket
my feet peeking out the bottom
i'm growing i'm growing
it's troubling
i'm growing
i'm undecided i'm growing
you're far so far from reach
and
i jerk in my bed
in a falling dream
waking up to crying
i'm scared of myself
i don't want to go to sleep 'cause my self
might hurt me
i'll stay awake and make sure i don't
it's scary
in the dark with no one
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet." --Plato

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Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • Ms. HaikuMs. Haiku Posts: 7,265
    pink slippers on the 5-year old
    pink slippers walking with care
    walking with an iv pole in her hand
    to the room with other children.
    some scars can be seen on a head
    her scars are under her shirt.
    bashful girl born with a broken heart.

    night is not even a timezone
    the hum of machines near her bed
    the hum of machines in the next bed over
    the moaning of the child
    the soothing voice of that child's mother.

    she holds a picture of her sister
    could a 5-year old with
    pink slippers at the foot of the bed
    be so focused, so direct, look so long at one small object-
    she holds a picture of her sister
    probably the reason she chose this life
    and falls asleep bandages still in place.
    There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous
    The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
  • KwyjiboKwyjibo Posts: 662
    i've seen the boss blink on and off
    come here by me i want you here
    nightmares become me it's so fucking clear
    nightmares become me
    The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.

    I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
  • FinsburyParkCarrotsFinsburyParkCarrots Posts: 12,223
    Steel, that old pushchair
    its abacus beads
    Mum's printed dress, Saturday
    coffee shop feeds
    Away from the blackness
    that side of the bed
    with its monsters that say
    you slip down and you're dead


    Stained, this old hand
    My hair, greying old threads
    can't even bend down
    to pick out all the weeds
    Back here at the black
    with the curses I made
    and the bottle that says
    you looked up so you're dead


    Feed just for an hour
    Feed just for an hour
    Feed just for an hour
    Feed just for an hour
  • DopeBeastieDopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
    don't be scared, love
    little dove, some
    times light is just gone
    but it does
    n't mean love is
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