Drying Out

I have not a friend, to mend me
I lay bent, when I dare to sleep
I rarely rest sound; I snooze like a beaten hound
After I pour my pupils dry–
As a rusted pipe, and sink into this frigid bed
I lay awake an empty vessel
Hiding in hollow walls
Digging my flesh for gold
But only shoveling hideous
Mold.
 

Todays poetry contest entry was written by Willie Jay.

 

Do you think it could possibly be one of the best new poems in 2015?