The disbelief is whats getting to me, it feels like something in one of my books, rather what's on the news. The fact that nothing is being done is giving the same feeling of disconnection that my relationship with my mother does. Because I'm so, so young and never felt so far apart from her. The same voice that soothed me to sleep, haunts my head when I get a bad mark and the voice that urges me on when I slice the body she helped grow.
It feels like my head is apart from my vessel, like I'm seeing everything after they happen. I'm so, so young, and I've never felt like smoking a cigarette in a graveyard, in the basement, in my room, more. I already smell like them because of her, what harm will it do to smoke them?
When I pass my mother in the hallway, she checks on me, and gives me the look, the look of pity and sadness. What right does she have to do that? I see the things she does, the way she thinks and how she does things, and its terrible, and shes the one that assumes I need pity? Why should I have to carry her, when I was taught to carry myself up right from so very young?
But what do I know.
WHAT DO I KNOW! I'M NOT EVEN HERE RIGHT NOW
or maybe I'm not here
YOU ARE READING
poems and short stories
Randompreviously "fireworks reflected in your eyes" I don't feel like that fit the piece anymore, and I needed a change but I still want it to be taken seriously. My earlier work (earlier chapters) are worse please stick em out and read the good stuff ♡♡ ...
