I rise up from the dead. I Tear the sheets away from me. I disconnect my phone from it’s snake. And I am at peace.
Prose Poem
It lays there continuously looking at me. It judges me I know it. I’ve spent nights pouring over the information inside. It contains so much knowledge, yet I don’t care. Color explodes in perfect lines all around it. It’s wrinkled, old and ugly. Some of the edges are even torn off.
