ground bone

poetry

now i sit
breathing and shitting still
staring at
a door with a plastic
wooden facade

boxed in
trying to keep quiet

while the world of thoughts
whirlwind around me
laying their judgements down
silently upon this
“bath
room”

and my eyes stare down
into the marble looking
composite-vinyl
and see an odd reflection
of myself

fat, tired
eyes
faded,
grey

what awful tricks the mind plays.

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