Bridget Hart

Day 4 and the prompt is a sad poem. All of my poems come from some kind of sadness or nostalgia. I was going to attempt a sonnet, but my PMS is really bad and my thoughts are singular and obsessive, and today is one of those days where i truly believe i am the madwoman in the attic.

The madwoman
in the attic is
knocking on
the floor
the door
my right
temple.

The madwoman
comes in
the weak
moments
climbs into
burning cloth

The madwoman
tells half truths
half other
breaks
happiness like dusk

The madwoman
promises
to never exist
without me.