Tethered to a bed in a home With a bag to collect your urine Left unchecked and overflowing On dingy, grey-white tiles Behind closed curtains, Your decrepit fingers squeezing A disconnected call button, Your tear ducts spent, Your rage consumed, then I could love you
Reason for writing:
None given
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Brett Axel.