Amazing work from Kristiana at My Screaming Twenties
Four hours,
I’m counting.
Parched throat
prickled flesh.
I wish to swallow saliva
’till I drown
to tear each hair
root from skin
to drown out the din,
cacophony of thought and breathing
to peel my skin
until I’m shivering.
Four hours, seven minutes,
still counting.
Eight, dry throat
poker hot skin.
I wish to leave my nails
embedded in my sides
to…nine
stop time
to escape
this den, pillow fort grave
to clamp my eyes
shut to the black of light.
Four hours, thirteen,
for how long will I keep
counting?