Once again, lying in bed,
The day's events
Flowing through my head
Like a movie
I don't want to see.
The dreams come and go.
I push them aside,
Each time wishing they would return;
They don't, of course.
Why would they?
I see her eyes—
His eyes—
Their eyes,
Painted on the back of my eyelids
Like graffiti on the silver screen.
Covers pulled over my head
Only serve to catch the vapor of my breath;
The click-clacking of a beast in the hall,
The quiet tick-tocking of a distant clock
Still permeate.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 10:04 PM UTC
Once again, lying in bed,
The day's events
Flowing through my head
Like a movie
I don't want to see.
The dreams come and go.
I push them aside,
Each time wishing they would return;
They don't, of course.
Why would they?
I see her eyes—
His eyes—
Their eyes,
Painted on the back of my eyelids
Like graffiti on the silver screen.
Covers pulled over my head
Only serve to catch the vapor of my breath;
The click-clacking of a beast in the hall,
The quiet tick-tocking of a distant clock
Still permeate.
© Ethan M. Pfahning 2019
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