I am curled up on the floor of my kitchen,
Waiting.
Waiting for the moment my eyes will clear the tears.
When my lungs will fill with air, and my hands will quell their shaking.
I am waiting for the moment I return to normal.
I don't know if I know what normal is anymore.
Here I am curled up on the kitchen floor, physically feeling the despair seep out of my body and surround me in a dark haze.
This bubble I build is more normal then anything else I know lately.
It never fully goes away these days. It just sits inside me clawing and gnashing, trying to force its way out.
I always hate it when it wins. But at least today I have the comfort of my kitchen floor instead of a crowded store or worse the office job.
Not that it hasn't happened there too. I never seem to have any control on it anymore.
Maybe I'm finally so dark inside I can't even contain it.
What happens when the darkness hazes around me permanently.
Perhaps it's the only version of going to the light my brain can surmise.
Maybe it's the only paradise I'll ever know.
C.G.
YOU ARE READING
No one is there
Poetrypoetry book. all the things I've written that I could never say out loud. Some topics may be difficult for some people so check for disclaimers .
