The warmth rushes in waves from my body. Iím sent cascading to the bathroom linoleum. Convulsing, I fold into myself. Still I canít get warm.
I feel nothing. Staring ahead, my world still trembles, but I seem stagnant. My mind becomes heavy with exhaustion. My world stills, spinning to a stop. Liquid crimson becomes my bed, spreading under my aching head.
I want this
I succumb to the sweet sleep eternally.
I just wrote this. I'm not sure why, but I was just thinking about how much I wanted death a year ago. So this is written from memories of how I felt. I most certainly don't want to die now, but shadows of those feelings still linger. I'm not entirely sure what this is. I mean, it's not really a poem, but nor is it much of a story. Hmm.. Let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!