The last thing I see before I go to sleep is the shadow of myself
It waits for me with splintered fists to remind me of who I am
A spinning figure trapped in between shades of the past and whispers of things yet to be
So don’t sleep, arise, the world does not stop. Neither should you
I’d rather wear my shade as a blanket and pull it around my shivering body and let it hold me when I sleep.
Shadow of Myself
Published
Poetry Overdose 