By: Blair Hill
I go back to sleep to silence my thoughts.
I contemplate the ceiling as my fan
showers the room with dust
like snowfall in an autumn cut short.
Time crawls on like leaves caught mid-fall.
It’s midday and light peeks through
my blinds like an unwanted neighbor
trying to pry into my slate-colored life.
You’ll be disappointed, my friend;
there’s nothing to see here.
Now, if you could see into my technicolor mind,
you’d certainly find something to gawk at.
Nothing in there is slate gray –
the walls only come in aggressive neon,
the kind that makes your eyes hurt after a few moments.
I pray for sleep to come quickly,
So I can avoid being cornered by thoughts I’d rather forget.
It’s not like I have anything new to think about anyway.
The word “failure” rolls off my lips as a reminder
that I will always view myself as unworthy.
Some thoughts don’t need to be thought.
Edited by Larissa Banitt