time marches like ants in a row
seconds stop to greet each other
disrupting the flow
blood swims in the veins
circulating with the aide
of medical hope all know is
just hollow
thoughts flicker in and out
off and on about all the things
universal in continuums of time
there are scratch marks
on the legs where the itch
laughs with determination
caverns in the deepness of the mind
thoughts some bland and some strong
demons torture with hallucinations
of what the heart despises more
the noise they make
those tendrils as they wrap
their wicked fingers round
the mind unquiet with grief
© 2019 M. Brazfield
You can read more of M. Brazfield’s work at Words Less Spoken.
