As The Sun Rises

I lay on a hard mattress curled in the foetal position,

wrapped in a chrysalis of darkness.

A fancy metaphor could not explain the meaning of life,

it had simply become irrelevant.

I had become so skinny that my skin was pulled

guitar string taut over aching bones,

that doctors had threatened to hospitalise me.

But now, allergic to life, my skin peeled at the thought of being.

I lay wishing myself into the bliss of non-existence.

I wanted to make out with Death, and have him suck out

every last trace of air from collapsing lungs.

I whispered a small prayer of solace under my breath to God,

to someone that would listen.

The next morning, I woke to the gentle caress of

sunlight on my cheek, and a feverish hunger.

mental healthmental health issuespoetry and mental health

◄ Psychotic Girl

Sinner ►

Comments

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Candice Reineke

Mon 30th Sep 2019 20:55

I’m feeling so relieved for “gentle caress of sunlight” on your cheek. Good stuff, Marina!

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Tom

Mon 30th Sep 2019 13:51

Well... that was intense. Really well written Marina, you have a talent. Keep writing! Tx

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