It's the pain—I can't think straight.
My mind dreams only in quatrains,
Rattling, shattering, utterly insane.
My hands go numb
From the pain—again.
Feeling like you're dying
Is surely worse than being dead.
Even just being is consuming—
At least, it consumes me with dread.
There's a ringing, a spinning in my head,
Full of words I never said.
Echoes of laughter in bed...
But I don’t really care—
No, I swear I don’t.
There’s too much pain everywhere else.
Even my skin feels too loud.
How could I think about
You
When just breathing
Is a battle I keep losing
Quietly,
Over and over again?
About the Creator
Lolly Vieira
Welcome to my writing page where I make sense of all the facets of myself.
I'm an artist of many mediums and strive to know and do better every day.
https://linktr.ee/lollyslittlelovelies


Comments (1)
That part about “even my skin feels too loud”—I felt that. It’s not polished or pretty, and that’s why it hits. Great job!