by Poet on the Piano   Jan 22, 2021

staring at my coffee cup,
flies begin to gather -
the clock, an itch in my brain.

at the end of the day,
the blood's dried on my scalp.
i've barely moved,
my toes cerulean

and i dream, again,
of dying.


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Latest Comments

  • 1 month ago

    by Meena Krish

    As deep and dark this poem is, it also tugs at the heart with mystery and sadness. The images it drew in my mind is silently cold and sad. Take care

  • 1 month ago

    by Skyfire

    Beautiful and haunting.

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