A thousand clever lines, on a thousand clever napkins, littered the expanse of cotton. Your words always felt like summer, they were warm, safe and fleeting, but our time passed far too quickly and the monsters slithered back into my mind. My demons were seeping through the floorboards, the bodies weren't fitting under my mattress, and there wasn't enough room in my closet for the tidal wave of skeletons I'd managed to stuff in it. When you walked in on me, the eye of the hurricane of sheets and bodies, you turned and walked right back out. It's not my fault I was drowning in the blood that was dripping from my hands and wrists. Your eyes floated over the knots in my hair, and drifted over the intercostals of my bones. "Why are you so determined to have something terribly wrong with you?", you snarled. I looked back at you with eyes reminiscent of the emptiness of space and choked out,"I don't know, I don't know"
YOU ARE READING
Revelations
PoetryIt was really me. It was really you. There was really nothing we could do. To put it concisely, these are short, philosophical situations, feelings, and thoughts of different persons and personalities I've encountered.
