My Wednesday

Grey skies could be seen,
A constant tapping of rain heard.
My cold winter hands placed blue notes,
Unfeeling cries and
Dead shivers in my chest.

My buried pills and
Rusted blood were forgotten,
A constant racing heartbeat heard,
My emotionless finale.

How blind I was when the
Dullness consumed me.
Only touch allowed me to see the cold,
How naive I was to think my end
Was near.

I closed my eyes and slept,
Praying to be consumed by,
A single last thought
– I’m sorry.

Yet, a constant tapping of rain could be heard
And clear skies could now be seen.
With buried pills I was missing four,
And left with the scars of a Wednesday night.

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