My skin melts into my sheets
and my depression swallows me whole,
I tell time by the dishes
stacked up in my sink
as the world keeps turning cold.
Boredom is the enemy that
crushes this soul entirely.
I’m growing sick
of staring at blank, white walls.
We only see each other now through
poorly lit, slow-burn calls.
I can’t stand the pixelation in your eyes
when I know those irises are made of fire.
My body can ache for yours
a little longer.
I’ll miss you for as long as I’m able
and then a little more.
The world will heal and
time will follow suit.
Everything will be okay
Clara is a Junior at UNT majoring in Creative Writing. Her favorite poet is
Emily Dickinson, and when she’s not reading you can find her buried in blankets
and playing Animal Crossing.