At the peak of my existence, I felt loneliness creep up next to me in bed. I'd call her a one night stand if she weren't here so often. Our pillow talk keeps me up at night. It is her and the monsters under my bed that I trust will solemnly swear to keep my deepest and darkest secrets, only they can know. We whisper under tucked covers like best friends in pigtails after a long awaited slumber party; convincing each other that others dislike us a feeling that must be mutual. We are destined soul mates.
Watching me blow out my candles on birthdays. She tightens my leash each year as an anniversary present, yet she is an unfaithful lover. I am not enough entertainment for her to stay, and she has duties elsewhere.
Like sewing herself into three piece suits and shaking hands with the devil. She is the madness that is pumped into retirement homes. That sickly smell drilling the TV's static into your subconscious. She can slither like snakes down the Adam's apple of a man calling for the check as he lets the vodka and scotch ride along in the passenger's seat. No amount of forget-me-nots will do the trick and allow him forget his troubles.
God is not helping right now and she has taken the wheel.
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts.
PoesiaI sit at my keyboard my mind chasing thoughts. A title? A description? What category does "angsty teen poetry/memories belong to". Excerpts of literal drowning, metaphorical drowning, and happy anxiety. Broadcasting my emotional torment wasn't enou...
