Four hours,

I’m counting.

Parched throat

prickled flesh.


I wish to swallow saliva

’till I drown

to tear each hair

root from skin

to drown out the din,

cacophony of thought and breathing

to peel my skin

until I’m shivering.


Four hours, seven minutes,

still counting.

Eight, dry throat

poker hot skin.


I wish to leave my nails

embedded in my sides


stop time

to escape

this den, pillow fort grave

to clamp my eyes

shut to the black of light.


Four hours, thirteen,

for how long will I keep


4 thoughts on “4.13am

Leave a Reply to oldepunk Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s