– At The Seams –
I wait the length of hours,
stretching me out across
the expanse of my thoughts,
wandering in distorted dreams
that cause me to question
the clarity of my mind,
the truth of my fractured memories.
Through and through,
I am wearily worn,
like a piece of paper folded
too many times along the centre,
and from the wearing torn.
I feel a wretched sensation
rising from deep within me,
a wrenching of the soul,
a tearing at the seams,
like a chorus of whispers
that steadily grows
into a deafening scream.