Even
in sleep
we spin
webs of worry
about the prey
never caught
or the danger
getting too close and
the sticky, hyper-overdrive
collides with paths of indecision
mapping trails of recurring vulnerability vomit - webs
across the unconscious hemispheres.
As we awaken,
the milky-white film,
crusting our eyes
and hanging in our stiffened throats
impedes clarity
until the black
coffee
is poured!
We are but skittish spiders in a sinewy web of self-destruction.
© Reneé Marie
4.2.17
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is poetry. A powerful use of words.