Poems?...

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Title:Spooning with a shell

Its porcelain texture presses against my non existent soul. 

Its hold on me is weak and frail.

Letting it hold my waist, can’t even feel it.

Is this what toys in plastic feel like? 

Its weak hold is not the thing keeping me from leaving.

Spooning with a shell.

It's the chains of thought that strap us both down.

The rattles whisper ugly, venomous words into the hollow shell.

Its glass chips every rattle, so it holds its breath and doesn’t move.

Spooning with a shell.

Days that I try to ask to be let go nothing comes out.  

I’ve laid here for so long it's less of dreading each day, and more of being lost in each day.

A constant loop like an old song stuck in repeat in the background covered up by the static of the tv.

A fountain that is never cleaned. 

The water being reused becomes more and more foggy. 

Spooning with a shell.

Despite it looking made of meat and blood. 

Its hold, cold.

Cold, lonely, and greedy.

It only speaks the words “I want.” every hour.

Its voice is dry and quiet.

Sounding on the edge of tears and anger. 

Spooning with a shell.