Intellectual Curiosities and Provocations

Litkicks Message Board Archive

sleep

Posted to Action Poetry




isn't calling my name

open or closed
my eyes concoct
the demons of self gratification

out of selfishness, a gift
to me they gave
hatred's poison
so very unsweet
unkind
unforgiving
a gift for me
to counteract my soul
from those who "cared"
they never meant to hurt
yet took
then tossed the putrid core
hit and run
not looking back to apprehend...


even sleep
doesn't call my name.