Midnight memories.



She had the most brittle heart,
Made up of glass,
Which reflected many of the sorrowful events.
The nights reminded her of them,
As she was gunned down by the monsters under her bed.
Breathing heavily against her pillowcase,
Lines of worry creased her face.
Deep and unsettling,
Events of remorse etched onto her mind.
Across the lampshade,
Placed a bottle of prescribed pills that just wouldn’t do.
She knew she had to find a cure,
She had to pull it together,
To slay the monsters of midnight.

– Shweta Kher.

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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