09:22 AM - friday september 3rd
today i woke up to the smell of damp earth, the window half-open, letting in the cold fingers of september's breath. the walls whispered, soft echoes, a chorus only i could hear. shadows moved in corners, shapes that didn't belong, but i knew them well. they were old friends, old ghosts.
mother said i should stay inside, that the world was too wild, too sharp, too full of broken things. but my skin itched, my bones ached to leave, to run through the blue of the sky that stretched forever, a void that called my name. the forest is dark but i am darker. i know the way. i know the path where the trees lean close, where their branches twist like fingers, pointing, leading. i feel the pull, deep in my chest, where my heart shivers, where it beats too fast, too hard, too loud.
sometimes, when i close my eyes, the world cracks open and i slip through, into places only i can see. places where the sky is red, where the ground hums, where the air tastes sweet and bitter all at once. i walk through these places, feel the weight of the sky pressing down, but it's not heavy, not suffocating. it's a comfort, a blanket, a shroud.
mother doesn't understand. she says i'm too quiet, too still, but she doesn't see the storm inside, the whirl of thoughts that never stops, that spins and spins until i can't tell where i end and the world begins. i try to tell her, but the words stick, thick and cloying, caught in my throat, tangled in my mind.
the clock ticks slow, dragging time with it, each second a heavy drop that echoes in the quiet. i watch the shadows grow longer, stretching, creeping closer. the light fades, soft and grey, and i wait for the dark to take over, to wrap me up, to hide me away.
something is out there, waiting. i can feel it, just beyond the edge of sight, just out of reach. my heart knows, it beats against my ribs, a caged bird desperate to be free. i want to run, to find it, to lose myself in the dark, to feel the cold air burn my lungs, to hear the whispering trees tell me secrets i already know.
but i don't move. i sit still, watch the shadows dance, and wonder if they're watching me too.
YOU ARE READING
sombre
Poetrynever-ending‚ never still. the fear‚ like thorns‚ does swarm‚ a fractured mind‚ forever ill. ﹛ scraps from the void ﹜