My head creaks like the stairs of a haunted mansion.
It’s always my fault when I crumble,
It’s my fault if I call out the pretention.
The mind is a revolving door, it turns in twisted circles.
My nausea is building quickly
As the world illuminates like a circus.
And the tension in my neck is crawling up the spine.
Why do I suffer for their naive mistakes
If I can suffer for mine?
I wait patiently but I bet they won’t tell me what’s wrong.
The pain spreads in seven dimensions,
But they beg me to hold on.
My skin turns ghostly, and my eyes roll back into my skull.
One last heartbeat, one more breath,
And all goes dull.
-JW
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 