Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2014
There's a nail,
he's set up camp in my brain.
Hammered with daylight,
held infuriatingly fast by night.
Even the stiffest claw
would be of no use,
not anymore.
His presence would herald slumber,
were I of a normal stock.
But no. He brings attention to
the tick. The tock.
If I inch him further,
with fervour,
maybe he will abdicate,
adjacent to his entry.
But I know he'll return,
pitching by the morn,
leaving my rest
completely,
utterly,
torn.
Kvothe
Written by
Kvothe  28/M/Newcastle, England
(28/M/Newcastle, England)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems