Alone in a buzzed out restaurant, vision blurry and breathing heavy. No chest to rely on, no eyes to look into. Only the empty plate in front of you keeps you company, the salt-shakers make a mocking sound whenever you pick them up again with no purpose, only to seem busy.
Trying to look like you aren't completely humiliated, no laughter coming from the opposite side of the table. An empty seat stares at you, it's telling you to pick whatever is left of your heart and go home. Take a taxi, walk the distance from another city to your house, just don't sit in this hell wasting away your youth on someone who won't show up for a simple date.
Aimless faith pushes you to order a drink, lemon juice. The bitter taste makes the situation strawberry-sweet. You confide in the melting ice, whispering your pain. Comfortably knowing that once it takes its water form, your rants will die with it. The hours pass and you've reached the bottom of your cup.
There's a couple in the table not too far to your left, sharing a plate, you feel a shiver take over your body. Watching their lingering touches, and thinking "Am I not worthy of the same?"
Why do you always pick the ones who are much too childish to have a conversation on the dinner table? instead you choose the ones who shall be three hours late without apologizing.
Your rationality says you won't let yourself be treated this way any longer. You pick up your pride and stuff it into the expensive bag you picked out just for tonight, then you make your way out of the suffocation of that restaurant.
Leaving behind a chapter you'll never open again and food you'll never taste once more.
YOU ARE READING
Emotional Torture.
PoetryCollection of poems and pieces written about daily struggles and tackling big world problems from the eyes of a teenager. Warning: Some chapters might be triggering. Triggers include: Suicide Eating disorder Self harm
