At the end of the day

The greasy smear on my pillowcase
looks like all the creepy tears I’ve ever sleep-cried,
a build up of sweat from a nighttime
workout of worrying and worrying,
a puddle of blood from being shot
in the head by a nightmare,
a melting of too many thoughts from
snoring ears, but it’s none of that.
I’m just a bit gross, at the end of the day.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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