I am so terrified of you.
I look in the daunting corners of my rooms and I see your shadow lurking there.
I see all of the memories we made out of the corner of my eye as if they had only happened moments ago.
It may be the most daunting feeling ever to feel so liberated and so buried alive at the same time. You were the shovel that was digging me out of my grave but the dirt was sliding back in from the slope the entire time.
I hate lying in my bed knowing that you used to rest right beside me and I would try to match your heartbeat with mine. I hate remembering all of our inside jokes and knowing that nobody else will ever understand them because they're not you.
They're not the skeleton in my closet.
They're not the dirt in my grave.
They're not the corpse that was breathing next to me when I thought that was what being alive felt like.
And they are certainly not the person I thought I would be buried aside.
I died alone.
YOU ARE READING
•Mind on Paper•
PoetryThis is going to be a collection of late night thoughts and spurs of inspiration for your viewing pleasure. Some of these could be happy, sad, melancholic, and much more. My brain is the brush, the paper, or in this case the screen is my canvas. I...
