MUSHROOM m i n d

By Steph Raymond All Rights Reserved ©

Other / Poetry

15/10/2012

15/10/2012

She couldn’t sleep.

This was becoming

a common problem.

She lay awake listening to the sounds of the old house she was renting.

Creek, creek, creek.

Tick, tick tick.

She could feel herself shiver with unease.

Nights were the worst.

The quiet made it easier to feel the

v i b r a n c y

in which the blood was pulsing through her veins.

Quick…

too quick.

So quick that it made her want to scratch off her own skin,

layer

by

layer.

S l o w l y

So she suffers.

She felt like this many times before…

overflowing with unease and

trepidation

from the inside out.

She tried to swallow the shadows,

to keep them quiet;

but again and again they rise

only to smother any

l i g h t

fighting to pour out of her bones

so that she may see clearly.

She watched the time go by in the top right corner of her phone.

Midnight.

One o’clock.

Three o’clock.

Until the sun finally rose and it was time for school.

Her trembling body,

tired by unrest,

rose slowly from her bed.

Every limb shaking,

every thought dark.

This alone felt

unstable

and

exhausting

and so she decided that she would not attend classes today.

She would rest.

Rest and think of how to stop herself from being swallowed whole by darkness.

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