Swing Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Swing

Not too far is my bed
-too much on the plate.

The eyelids are heavy
-keep open forcibly.

Then smiles proverb
- "Use stud, matchstick."

Then dream warily
-of dying, in lonely.

Neighbors go complain
-to the building's concierge,
- "Feel stench? It stinks!
-Call police let them see."

And they come and they see…

I am dead and rotten
-worms crawl, get chubby.

"Hurry up, add speed…"
-intend to but can feel
-toe to head is still!

Feel stuck and wonder
-ask of the difference
-between voice and silence.

Want to shout, break walls
-find my mouth tightly sealed
-and legs, arms, are shackled
-with the chains and copper.

Head for bed but return
-sit here, shed tears…

Is better small bird's
-whining and squeak
-to laying and freeze!