March 9th, 2021
Spending time alone in my room has become an obsessive pass time. The blanket, the pillow, the rhythm, the heartbeat. The sweat, the tears, the tossing, the turning. The silence. The silence wraps an arm around my body, asks me quietly, "did you eat today?" I answer back in the same tone of voice, "yes, but not like you think." To prove to myself I'm not doing any favors, I grab the sharpest thing next to me and cut into my gut. I drag it along my stomach and I pour open like a piñata. My room expects to be covered in gore, but all that comes from me is light. The sun that died inside of me begins to thrive in this room. I don't know what changed, but I do know I'll be going to bed early tonight. And the night after that, and the night after that.
R.K.
YOU ARE READING
Holeheart
PuisiI am the forgiver. I am the destroyer. I'm not at fault, but I deserve to be. Poetry and Prose Volume V 2021 DISCONTINUED
