#366 (tombstones)

two o’ clock

her lids won’t close pupils

dilated, fixated on a particularly

ugly crack in the ceiling of

her linden green living room

she gave up sleeping in her bed

since the ghosts always find her

there and rest is nothing but

a faint memory, an estranged

friend who won’t even send her

any birthday cards any more.

In her mind the crack becomes

a ravine as she plunges into it,

headfirst, sleep hallucination

the rubber band pulling her

back yet the quick exhilaration

ends with her back planted on

two velvet cushions, that feel

like tombstones to exhausted

nerves.

 

© Matthias Geh, 4th July 2018

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