I’ve been buried in these warm sheets for weeks.
Who cares how I feel?
If not me who could it be?
That little voice that blabbers deep within me, echoing throughout the night.
Who cares what I’ve seen?
My own mother pretends she can’t see.
All the little demons mocking and laughing at me.
As they dance on my insecurities.
You was supposed to protect me not mock me,
exploit me and take every flicker of light out of me.
Who cares what I’ve seen when you’re blind sighted by your own naivety.
Oh well, here’s to another day trapped inside your purgatory.
By Ashworth Poetry
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