Morning.
I wake.
Shitshitshitshitshit.
This was a mistake.
I feel throbbing,
I feel shameful,
I feel panicked.
I need a redo,
Just one simple redo,
All I need is...
Clothes.
Jewlery, jewelery,
What to wear?
...Nothing.
Five-hundred fucking necklaces
And not a single bracelet?!
Fine. I'll improvise.
Where's my sweatshirt?
And this is how it begins.
Sitting here,
Fourteen hours
Twelve minutes
Ten seconds.
I'm thinking about it
And I don't like it.
I wish they could disappear.
I wish someone could see.
The auditorium is dark
And the presentation
Is boring.
I hate International Week.
It's somewhere sandy
--Africa maybe?
A perfect time
To run over the raised cuts.
Feeling where the glass
Sliced,
Seeing where the blood
Filled.
Thinking about how I had
Hurt.
...Did i even hurt?
I felt fine.
The house lights rise
And I blankly continue.
Something makes me look
And I do,
Watching Jade watch me.
We catch eyes.
I pull my sleeve up.
Both of us have eyes of steel
But we both look away.
She says nothing.
And I grab my stuff to leave.
And this is how it begins.
YOU ARE READING
Diary of a Self-Proclaimed Addict
PoetryAddiction is like a fire: It consumes everything--your life, your soul--in a colorful fury. Victims are entranced. But behind the colors and the warm heat there is damage. The question is, can you get out before it burns your whole world down? ....T...
