I can't even write about how my eyes swell into the mornings now,
or how I grew so accustomed to concentrating on sound waves, the lull
of my 7 year old brother grinding his teeth under tight pressed lids.

The silent hum of sleeping always keeps me awake,
I pull at corners, and burn my body into the sheets
hoping that just for once
the light wouldn't seep through my pores,
and my retina's wouldn't have to beg for mercy,
everytime I resort to scraping out these lids.

Dark is a reverie of conscious spinning circles for me, though-
the constant contracting of my head to bedboard,
where I can almost reach actual dreaming,
and not this pathetic attempt at normalcy.

The sun falls into my arms,
illuminating these white walls, yet again.
but I will re-open these scars,
and I will allow my wounds to stain the sheets that confine me so unfairly.
(I will, I will.)

07/10/2004

Author's Note: I'm never able to write about these things :\

Posted on 07/10/2004
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