Honorable Mention, Poetry
These thoughts consume me,
“Did you lock the door?”
I reiterate as I ruminate in bed,
Biting into my pillow; challenging myself.
These thoughts devour me,
“Why aren’t those books in alphabetical order?”
“Who placed that table here?”
Please, make it all stop.
These thoughts are leeches,
Except they don’t numb any pain.
It’s three fifty-nine AM,
I’m trapped inside my own mind.
Every night, I get out of bed a dozen times,
To check the door, the lights, the laundry.
It’s torture in disguise;
Torture I can’t escape.