First Cut
By skinner_jennifer
- 4710 reads
Dear diary...17th March 2020.
Body's gone into battle,
head engulfed in what
feels like swampy moss,
becoming clogged
among this chaotic scene,
like a lawnmower possessed;
grinding through first
cuttings of spring,
texture of sinewy grass
Celtic knotting...tangled
in my throat,
each blade hostile
with no compassion,
no longer lurking in shadows,
but lying as if in thick molasses
forever creeping.
But I won't let it win! No,
this coughing rage
reminding me of
smoke from bonfire,
lungs caught in loathsome
wreak of destruction clawing
its way, causing hundreds of
bacteria to incubate,
so! I won't feel guilty
about not being industrious,
I'll give into languor induced
by weakness.
Beneath quilt I feel like
an undercover agent,
only surfacing for air for a moment
then surrendering to watery eyes.
Every moment I can sleep,
feels like serenity washing
over my independent spirit
that hates relying on others,
surrendering I don't want to
venture far, it's reminding me
that as I gaze out my window,
this can only make me stronger in the end.
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