Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2016
I’ll sleep tomorrow, or the next day, maybe.
Give me a call when the time’s done ticking-
ring me up when our food is done.
I’m clawing away at whatever’s left,
the edges of the wallpaper stay stuck
to the paste I dared stick my hand in-
I’m stuck here too.
Somewhere in between the foundation and the decoration
is me, somewhere else,
glued, layers weighing me down.
I’m lying awake,
with a headache, laughing,
because there’s nothing else to do.
Martha O'Brien
Written by
Martha O'Brien  UK
(UK)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems