Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2010
Her vitals are dropping like flies

The air in the room is staler than bread

Everyone here is a critic of sorts

Amidst curtains and curtains of black, sunken eyes


Her dreams are breaking like stone

The table beside her is colder than ice

She feels love on her arm but can’t love it back

Can only see curtains of palpable bones


So meager, her breath, it drops.

Falls flat.
Written by
Dylan D
1.6k
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems