(Oil Painting of a ship at sea)
Waves crash against wood.
Sailors' hands bleed grasping rope,
Lest the sea take them.
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About the Creator
Last Days
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. It was me, but there was something warped, and that was not me. I narrow my eyes and peer into the narrowing eyes of my deformed reflection. I was off, and while I could see it in my reflection, no one else could see it. At least no one acknowledges it. Getting out of bed has become a chore. A chore I hate. After fifteen to twenty minutes of lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wishing I hadn't woken up, I finally shift to the side of the bed, legs dangling down the four foot high drop to the floor.
By Colt Henderson4 days ago in Horror
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