I’m slowly falling apart. From my seems to my mouth.
Pieces are falling off.
I’m a shambling, bleeding mess. Shuffling towards something I don’t know.
Am I wrong, for trying to feel?
The twine just weeps.
I want to let go of the pain. But it follows. Stalking me from the gallows.
There’s so much beauty. But I’m drowning in terror, in black claws, perforating my lungs, my tears, voice, eye lashes; only a hair’s breadth away.
I’ll make more of it than it really is. Then I’ll strip it away. The glass won’t break but the plastic is burning.
Who am I?
Sticky notes I can’t find. Pens keep running out of ink. Letters crumpled in the corner.
The warranty is soaking.
And my sorrow tastes like chocolate and popcorn. Something I can embrace.
Is it okay to be like this? The emptiness staring me mute.
The dust hid it. I lost the broom.
Can I keep the delusion?
It swells until it destroys the only purpose I had left.
The whispers can’t hear me. They keep creeping past, leaving the candles lit. Dropping postcards and love notes. But they never sign.
I know its new. But I can’t find the ticket. And the roof fell in.
Its waiting in the box but I can’t seem to take it out.
Nothing sturdy. It’ll shatter.
Sometimes the best thing to do is let go, come back tomorrow, and try again. It’s just, my clock broke and the sky is lying.
The spine is well worn. The pages are empty.
I won’t stay if this keeps up. I’ve only got so much pulse.
It’s not really numbing. You’ll regret that.
The tendrils slip right in, rip it all out.
By Daphne Shadows