Broken Sleep
1:00am
This time, on a deep dented
Pillow, lies tears
From smashing and thrashing
Against the grain.
I fear most the window chimes,
Sounding more and more like chains
On glass. (Fingernails ripped out)
The ghost here reads real.
Drenched blackbirds are scurrying
From the recent storm; feathers their murk
In my head. The thing is: I have them by
Their wings— (switch over to bed).
Copyright © Paige Hind | Year Posted 2023
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