The other C word
It shares my bed and pecks at my dreams,
Claws at my thoughts.
Each morning I wake,
Look into its empty eyes
Pinioned to the bed, no will to rise.
I scuttle through shreds of mind
Like a beetle through dead leaves
Searching for life.
Yet still I rise, complete the empty actions of my day.
Stroking my wounds with poisoned talon
Seeping the life from out this shell
Ending this time of living hell.