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

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You can read more of M. Brazfield’s work at Words Less Spoken.