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sawyerPoems
I wake in the middle of the night In another body. A mirror image--- Dulled eyes, Lopsided mouth, Red-blotched skin; All the same, But not of me. I am awake In a dream. Nothing moves. Nothing makes a sound (Except for the persistent drip Of the broken faucet, Skipping broken records, And all the broken hearts The king's men couldn't Put back together). I wake in the middle of the night In a different room. You're still snoring loudly Beside me like a Bear in winter, but I don't feel your scratchy fur Or the scrape of your claws. Beige walls around the room: Beige beige beige beige beige "I hate beige," And suddenly they drop away. I'm freezing in August, Sweating in January. The clocks on the wall All watch me. I wake in the middle of the night In another lifetime. Everything the same, But my skin is tarnished silver, My hands feel only cold. Eleanor Scissorhands, I ruin what I touch, So you learn to stay away. There's no comfort in Tensile steel And my life is made of it When I wake in the middle of the night.
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Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
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I wake in the middle of the night In another body. A mirror image--- Dulled eyes, Lopsided mouth, Red-blotched skin; All the same, But not of me. I am awake In a dream. Nothing moves. Nothing makes a sound (Except for the persistent drip Of the broken faucet, Skipping broken records, And all the broken hearts The king's men couldn't Put back together). I wake in the middle of the night In a different room. You're still snoring loudly Beside me like a Bear in winter, but I don't feel your scratchy fur Or the scrape of your claws. Beige walls around the room: Beige beige beige beige beige "I hate beige," And suddenly they drop away. I'm freezing in August, Sweating in January. The clocks on the wall All watch me. I wake in the middle of the night In another lifetime. Everything the same, But my skin is tarnished silver, My hands feel only cold. Eleanor Scissorhands, I ruin what I touch, So you learn to stay away. There's no comfort in Tensile steel And my life is made of it When I wake in the middle of the night.
I'm not sure what was going on when I wrote this.
sawyer
Written by
sawyer
American
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 3:44 PM UTC
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