The Looking Glass Volume 39 | Page 37

Hiding under my blue covers

my nose runs and mixes with my tears.

Both are salty but I can't differentiate them.

I’m sweating but 

I can’t bear to show my face.

Knocking on my door but 

I ignore it.

Everyone around me rushing me

telling me to get up,

but I sink into my bed and 

become one with the old mattress.

Soon it's soaked.

Curled up in a ball,

hygiene is ignored and I feel worse.

How did I let it get this bad?

But I can’t get up because 

I’m weighed down.

There's an anchor on my ankle.

I let it pull me down,

I’ve given up.

Help me before I beg

“Let me sink.”

Anchor