Dying to Meet You


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I feel you crawling on my skin,
dread and unease build deep within.
My eyes feel like they’re made of glass,
will shatter if they move too fast.
My tongue has lost all sense of speech,
and wallows there swollen and beached.
I need to scream, I need to cry,
I need to run, but don’t know why,
my legs remain fastened in place.
I feel your breath upon my face.
My heart beat sounds so far away.
I know that I will die this day,
so I do.

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Wendy Pratt

Poet, Author, Editor, Facilitator

Inking Prose & Poetry

The Art of Prose and Poetry

Fevers of the Mind

Writing, Poetry, Short Stories, Reviews, Art Contests

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