I'm sorry I'm debris,
I collect in the corners
slowly cluttering,
until you bonk your toes
against me,
but never enough to pick up
and toss out.
This feeling is prickly,
constantly picks at me.
I'm sorry
I can't shake it,
it has grabbed hold, twisted around
my intestines.
The worst is, I know that it's empty--
that it's an old enemy,
who used to claw at me,
since grown tired,
now gathered it's wits
to come back,
commit more atrocities.
I hope it won't tear you
from me.
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 12:35 AM UTC
I'm sorry I'm debris,
I collect in the corners
slowly cluttering,
until you bonk your toes
against me,
but never enough to pick up
and toss out.
This feeling is prickly,
constantly picks at me.
I'm sorry
I can't shake it,
it has grabbed hold, twisted around
my intestines.
The worst is, I know that it's empty--
that it's an old enemy,
who used to claw at me,
since grown tired,
now gathered it's wits
to come back,
commit more atrocities.
I hope it won't tear you
from me.
This was written on a rough night.
Daniel Magner 2017
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