avatarWillow Schroeder

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Abstract

es.</p><p id="9a04">Instead of drawing in a deep breath of hope, dewey air, I keep my nose huddled deep within my pillows. The room is stagnant like a long-forgotten puddle.</p><p id="8afb">Truth be told, I am not about to catch that worm. Maggots crawl about my brain, and I know that I will find comfort in my coffin someday.</p><p id="a08f"><b>More of my poetry takes on a darker shade:</b></p><p id="260a"><i>-On daffodils-</i></p><div id="f09f" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/death-to-the-narcissists-188b2f95e21c"> <div> <div> <h2>Death to the Narcissists</h2> <div><h3>You shall have a new queen</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div>

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    </div><p id="3d3c"><i>-On travel-</i></p><div id="8964" class="link-block">
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            <h2>Unwelcome</h2>
            <div><h3>A poem</h3></div>
            <div><p>medium.com</p></div>
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Truth Be Told

A dark poem

Photo by Richard Jaimes on Unsplash

Truth be told, I never rise with the sun. I do not witness the birth of the day, ignoring the way that dawn’s first rays crack / open their orange yolk on the tooth of the mountains and rise in the breath of the clouds.

I keep my shutters closed as tightly as my eyes and lie in bed, deaf to the morning birdsong and revving engines.

Instead of drawing in a deep breath of hope, dewey air, I keep my nose huddled deep within my pillows. The room is stagnant like a long-forgotten puddle.

Truth be told, I am not about to catch that worm. Maggots crawl about my brain, and I know that I will find comfort in my coffin someday.

More of my poetry takes on a darker shade:

-On daffodils-

-On travel-

Poetry
Dark
The Lark
Morning
Mental Health
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