Crumpled on the floor again
like a sad verse struck through,
blacked out, never to be read aloud
I crawl into bed, legs heavy from
carrying the weight of worries.
I’ve lost track of time again—
bury my head in a pillow, hiding
in its soft folds, stroking my own cheek,
breathing into pain hard and fast,
steam forms on the glass pane.
I swipe the wet away, body stiffening,
a dark figure looms in the reflection.
My bed sinks next to me sending
shivers like bolts of lightning as a
cold finger taps my back and
hands me a pill. Tomorrow will come.
Ryan Norman is a writer from New York living in the Hudson Valley. Inspired by the landscape, he writes what he feels. His poetry often interweaves mental health, mythology, and nature. You can find his past work in Elephants Never, 3 Moon Magazine, and Storgy Magazine.