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a forced sedation, a vacant bed
by Lauren Singerlittle things
like the high-pitched laughter of the woman upstairs,
her heeled-boots click-clacking on the hardwood.
or the rustle rustle of nylon against skin
as someone in the kitchen digs for midnight treasure.
the flop of the blanket
as it falls atop my body, a clumsily forced slumber.
the faucet unquiet as i toss myself into the
creak-tilt of the mattress, so embedded by my figure
that i can only fall into it.
the moaning of my stomach and my own air-gulping swallows
as i shake away the terrors of the night,
those devils tightening my chest;
and the stillness of the ceiling is the worst kind of monster. 01/25/2008 Posted on 01/25/2008
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by David Garner on 01/25/08 at 06:01 PM nice images here. the last line is a killer. Great job! |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 01/26/08 at 05:14 PM I agree with David; profoundly excellent close off in that line, and very good build up before. |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 01/26/08 at 10:43 PM The title is eye-stopping..the rest of the poem speaks uniquely of the terror of aloneness in a way that touched me as few others...i too have stared at the ceiling and thought it was the end of the universe. |
| Posted by Steven Kenworthy on 01/28/08 at 06:34 AM gut-wrenching...in a most well-written kind of way. your rawness and stomach punching style never get old or unoriginal. |
| Posted by Christina Bruno on 01/29/08 at 04:40 AM uhm i don't think i have ever read you before but i love you - brilliant images! |
| Posted by Dane Campbell on 09/12/12 at 07:34 PM This is brilliant. |
| Posted by Wendy Geal on 04/02/14 at 02:28 PM Loving your poems! |
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