Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2010
At this moment, I am wedged between my tonsils.

Stuck, yet scrambling to stay still
                    (I am afraid to make a noise.)
Beneath me: there is nothing but an empty stomach,
                behind me: a neck which wears its weakness in its cracking
                        and before me: a tongue trapped in a clammy cage
                                    by a brain blanketed in discomfort.
Written by
Bryn-Clarke Worth
590
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems