What would I be

I’m tired.
I’m tired- I didn’t want things. I hid from myself, I slept too much and I was weak. I couldn’t wake up and wandered in daydreams.

I wonder a part of me that I’m with no more. Through muffled breathes that wept; the part that got me up from the floors. – Now,

A throb lies under my skin, I’m buried in this floor. I hear thuds and I imagine vividly- a glint, a hole I’m scratching for. Maybe my silence would scream, But I am stone cold.

Sometimes I wonder if
I’m digging on the wrong end.
Maybe I’ve been lying to myself,
A corpse throbbing under concrete.

What would be heard?
Maybe I’ve been lying to myself.
Muffled ambience it is
When my throb is heard

Where would I be?
Maybe I’ve been lying to myself
Above Or under this floor?

Without that part of me.

To those that buried me.


About Haris

I've never seen myself as a writer but sometimes words just flow out of my fingers.
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