Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Routine

Every morning,

I lay in bed,

with my eyes sewn shut,

summoning some more sleep,

seeking the delightful delusion,

that you are beside me,

in the kind moments

between sleep and death,

where I am not awake enough,

to send my dreams away.

When you are gone,

entirely,

my eyes are open,

and I begin butchering myself,

taking a token from my trembling body,

to send to your door,

same day delivery,

of my soul,

my thoughts

the freckles on my shoulders,

the colour of my eyes.

I am showering you,

with myself,

remembering the crossed off dates,

on my calendar,

when I fell asleep,

before your adoring eyes,

your candied conversation

sending me to sweet dreams.

I kneel before old diary pages,

demanding answers

to questions I cannot vocalise,

because the words are razors,

rushing up and down my throat,

until all I have is strangled sobs.

I make a wish.

I choke on blood.

I read my cards.

I am ready to sleep,

now.

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