100 Days Project

Nick: Poetry

I'll write one poem every day. No set topics, no style restrictions, just writing.

Upon the matted floor lie rows of empty cavities,
their contents pushed like bubble wrap,
instilling childish joy with a single pop:
artificial numbness with a single drop.
The aluminium desk lamp pulses yellow,
a medical quarantine to rust the pen -
silver and poignant by daylight -
and embolden the matte black laptop;
Spanish red cedar and nylon
melt into the maroon walls,
safely out of shifting sight
searching for some ease to the throb
of skeletal neon residue:
the bruised veins of a doctor's visit.
But behind the black-curtained cubicle
the rain tinkles against the surgical hum
of electronics; water weaves down windows
to pool above the scratchy grass
in which crickets dwell and sing.
Light flushed out and hum extinguished -
all that's left is the furry sensation
of a warm zebra blanket tickling
until numb: the pills begin to take effect.

Day 1:

My room

My room