Every Night

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Abstract

ng up; The hollow night engulfs me- my fear starts to erupt; The lava spilling over like the drunken plastic cup; And the bathroom tiles stained With pools of dark red blood.The midnight air has me in a chokehold- Undressed- baring underwear- and freezing cold; Lectures, lectures by the young and the old- Resounding in my skull; I tried to do what I was told But when the poker face breaks- you fold.Stanley’s lying on the ground- sharp as a razor- as always; Playing dead so, when he sees my body carried through the hallways, He doesn’t have to cry any more streams of viscose crimson due to my faults Or hear my night-time scream

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s echo through the doors.Hi, if you enjoyed this piece feel free to follow and subscribe to my account, s-p-sacker, to receive an email whenever I publish and check out some of my other works. Some with similar themes include:Flat White Snow( <a href="https://readmedium.com/flat-white-snow-dedd616631fe">https://readmedium.com/flat-white-snow-dedd616631fe</a>),It was the way they said it( <a href="https://readmedium.com/it-was-the-way-they-said-it-79045cdc6a">https://readmedium.com/it-was-the-way-they-said-it-79045cdc6a</a>)Subdomain: s-p-sacker.medium.com:)</article></body>

A poem on the fear of living

A certain tightness- a pull of strings- in the chest when I breathe in; A crying smile- prickling horror- crawling under the skin; Apprehension- caution- lying awake under a starless night; The ceiling obstructs the fright- But the walls are far too thin.

I’m scared to fall asleep for I’m scared of waking up; The hollow night engulfs me- my fear starts to erupt; The lava spilling over like the drunken plastic cup; And the bathroom tiles stained With pools of dark red blood.

The midnight air has me in a chokehold- Undressed- baring underwear- and freezing cold; Lectures, lectures by the young and the old- Resounding in my skull; I tried to do what I was told But when the poker face breaks- you fold.

Stanley’s lying on the ground- sharp as a razor- as always; Playing dead so, when he sees my body carried through the hallways, He doesn’t have to cry any more streams of viscose crimson due to my faults Or hear my night-time screams echo through the doors.

Hi, if you enjoyed this piece feel free to follow and subscribe to my account, s-p-sacker, to receive an email whenever I publish and check out some of my other works. Some with similar themes include:

Subdomain: s-p-sacker.medium.com