BurningMidnightOil

United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

currently burning the midnight oil.
she/her
angsty, tumultuous soul
fly free, icarus
live perdurably, achilles

poetry: it's what i drink, it's what i read at 3am, it's what i'm crying over

Message to Readers

Feedback and critiques are always appreciated!

thirty-three minutes #ArtofCompression

February 2, 2020

FREE WRITING

2
and she wakes to the rumble of dissected mufflers. midnight runs amok. she's slept for exactly thirty-three minutes—an improvement. it's strange, the way the curtains flutter around the open window. ghosts of a resemblance to will-o-wisps. she simply sits and counts the wrinkles on the blankets. forty-four...one-hundred-seventeen...three-hundred-nine. insomnia nibbles at her vividness and sharpness. her paleness is only accentuated by the stark whiteness of snowed sheets. really, the only shades are black and purple and white. black for the night. purple for the disconcerting hand of insomnia. white for the sheets dipped in snow. the nights do not disassemble quickly, hypnos.
Finished: (02/02/2020 7:12PM)

Thank you to @The Great Gabs-by for hosting!

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  • February 2, 2020 - 6:22pm (Now Viewing)

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2 Comments
  • Raquel

    The language in this piece is beautiful.


    2 months ago
  • The Great Gabs-by

    Thanks for your entry!! Good luck:))


    2 months ago