Eyeglasses

Intrusive melodies are forced,
into the untouched calm of my ear.

The light, broken by old curtains
still harsh against my tired eyes.

A musty smell enters
the skewed shape of my nose

The drowsiness of the silent night
seals my eyelids shut, once again closed.

Abrupt footsteps outside the door
shudder me awake harshly.

Slow moving, like swimming in tar,
arms begin lifting from the sheets

magnetised towards the stoppage
of yelling sounds and pitched screams.

Fumbling hands feel for the slender arms,
and the cold glass encased in sleek frames.

Becoming part of my identity they perch
precariously on the bridge between my eyes.

Smudged and scratched, eyeglasses,
now signalling the beginning of morning.