Dead Asleep
In they come from the wings - the dead.
I’m glued to lone chair beneath spotlight,
dripping sweat,
and in they come from the wings—
the dead.
People and pets all long gone
now present,
so present
I feel them,
smell aftershave and perfume,
dog-fust and person-fugue.
Sweat tickles at collarbone.
Hug me?
I reach stiff, can't touch.
The dead are gilded statues.
Talk to me?
I strain ears, can't hear.
The dead hold silent vigil.
Me next?
Light my way to great unknown;
I'll come easy,
willing,
hop-skip-jumping,
relief so near
I can feel its
cool breeze soothing.
The dead smile small,
lock eyes that say
Go On With You.
Their lights fade.
I panic,
beg,
clutch at air
and damp sheets.
Don't leave.
Lungs ache as unsaid expands,
hurries heart,
squeezes stomach,
quells breath.
Sweat sets shivers,
teeth chatter,
bones rattle
me awake.
I’m here.
They're gone.
I'm alive.
They're dead.
Same as it was
before sleep took hold
but now the curtain rises
on a fresh act.
About the Creator
Ellie Scott
Writer, worrier, big fan of dogs. https://linktr.ee/elliescott
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Heartfelt and relatable
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By Judah LoVato3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (11)
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Phenomenal work!
love it
great poem, enjoyed the read
I love the rhythm of this piece. Well done. :)
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I like the economical, almost austere use of words to frame the imagery.
This would make a brilliant poetic play. It's an excellent poem.
Very moving - I enjoyed your portrayal of your emotions. Why would passing into death be a relief for you?
Very good!!