sick day

taking the day off because i’m sick

not coughing, vomiting sick

but bed ridden

eyes crusty with salty tears

face red, splotchy and puffy

kind of sick 

sick of people 

sick of moving

sick of walking 

sick of talking 

kind of sick

the kind of sickness that consumes your brain, instead of your body

it’s grip so strong there will be lacerations on your brain forever 

so infected hope losses meaning

and the world is nothing but another space filled with people

kind of sick

so sick i almost accept my selfishness

so sick i think, really think, for moment i could do it

so sick as i gaze at the scissors sitting on my side table 

so sick i seriously considering grabbing them

kind of sick

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741