All the voices in my head get loud with each echo heard,
when the moments come and the vibrations have occurred.
Headaches, dizziness, and then my palms on my head,
all the voices mixed and not a word understood said.
Slow movements not to tip the balance of the pain,
not to let the words tumble down, not to rain.
Gentle motions small sips and pills to be drunk,
into bed, blankets covering I always have sunk.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 29th, 2026 07:04
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Demar Desu - 德马尔·德苏
Offline)
Comments2
Well, get well. I can't like that.
This poem carries with it feelings of illness both mental and physical of lethargy and resignation. It is a sad write
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