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dead girls.
May 14, 2011
there are sandbags lining my skin.
mr. sandman made a house in the home of my soul where he
makes me drink these hot heavy drinks that make me want to
drown underneath of my covers.
I will sleep away the sunshine
I am sprawled and still
I am polished and structured
it’s as if I were practicing my poses for my coffin,
I imagine I hold a rose bouquet
I no longer know of breath
I no longer feel anything.
I am held down by an anchor dropped from my heart.
© Sarah M., Blairsville, PA
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