I Grow Pale As Sheets

Shadow companion,
I view your mountainside
and I am no longer

Days scrape by on walls
beside blood and feces,
sadistic scrawls;
art for a starved mind.

I grow pale as sheets,
unsafe for sunshine
my spine in pleats,
a fuller silhouette.

Time dissolves the will,
the distant hillside of myself
more pleasant than the pills,
though I may never reach it.

© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved

Poetry inspired by the artwork of Andrew Wyeth. This one entitled, “Helga.”


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