My hands are stained
With faux germs
The soap can’t
Wash off
❀
The detergent
Windscreen wiper
In my mind won’t stop
Swiping back and forth
In an absurd attempt
To erase the intrusive thoughts
❀
To me, everything links
To the possibility of a fire
Or something awful happening
And the blame fitting squarely
On my thin shoulders
❀
It still amazes me that
I can compact all of this
Into three simple letters
Three letters that all begin
To look like cages if
You spend too long
Thinking about it
❀
I joke about
Certain aspects of it
As if that might stop
The other (darker) side of it
From being real
❀
-It never works
❀❀❀❀❀
About the Creator
Poppy
poetry in progress
Comments (1)
Thank you for sharing. So raw with emotion and real.