Under the spell of being bedridden.

The rats of decay prey
on the thoughts
of black bats flying
where the mind
is cocooned
in a spider’s web
as moments slithered
along time’s scales
shedding memories
that had one breath.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

very deep write, it is so sad when one is bedridden...nothing but memories left as we become fodder for the rats...and the cobwebs grow on our feet and our mind.
j.

[andrew mitchell]

Thanks J, was thinking of those in ICU with covid.