Insomniac

by nouriguess   Apr 15, 2020


It is quiet, the night. Thoughts
are falcons, my heart is
a scared mouse, scuttling around
a vicious circle. Things
are moving fast and I'm bound,

the hours are snares. It's hard
to break the shackles when they're
your handicraft. It's hard
to breathe in bad dreams. It's hard
to hear that bullet shrieking at
my defenselessness again,
gnawing away your voice.

    report violation
4


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Latest Comments

  • 4 years ago

    by Poet on the Piano

    This felt different than your other recent poems? There's a quickness, which works with this piece, a way you say this is how things are and there's no chance to slow it down to understand or give yourself space from the nightmares. That sense of helplessness, never being able to move forward. The night chains you and these memories are torture.

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