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Tossing turning twisted inside my bed
My life is hanging by a thread.
I softly rise up, from my warm icky lay
As I whisper softly, "Let it be not a sickness." I pray.
Crawling toward the door, my stomach turns
Waiting to see, if strength would return.
God knows, whats going on
I pray I make it to the dinner table, before everyone is gone.
I drag my legs that use to carry me no younger then the age of ten
I tell the widowed spiders about my habit of using the word "Then"
Because there is always the rapid come of tomorrow...
Another day of being suppressed in my own hallow sorrow.
I Tell Mother how I am feeling, and I tell it to her well
I tell her how my stomach aches and how my throat swells.
She nods her head and says "That's nice dear," and runs off to who knows where.
Leaving me to finish my empty sentence, to the empty air.
I Tell my Father who plays with his tie, how I feel
I told him, this isn't fake! I feel so bad, it's really real!
He nods and pats me hard on the head and says "Good Girl, now be good today" and heads out the door
Leaving our conversations blank and flat, where once my heart use to soar.
I tell Grandma how my arms twitch and throb, and how my eyes blur with red
She only looks and says "What was that deary...oh yes, that's wonderful." and sits tight in her bed
I look at her hum, empty tunes that join my lost sentence across my eyes.
Slowly my heart beats, and the faster it dies.
I would ask Grandpa but he's long gone.
Out of all the things today, that went wrong
I feel sick, and sister doesn't care
My hearts been turning as fast as my stomach I think it has a tear!
I wobble to the dinning room table and "THAR SHE BLOWS!" I spew all kinds of food and liquids on the dinning table
My body felt weak, and so unstable.
I spit out the green icky venom that attached itself in my throat
And when the venom leaked on the empty seats of the large sleek table,
those empty seats were preoccupied with what I call my family.
 Pain-Killer 4 Dead Angels · Wed Feb 20, 2008 @ 01:10am · 1 Comments |
