Empty. Everything's empty.
The cupboard, the sink, the dresser, the washing machine the living room and the kitchen, everything
besides the bed. Still and silent, it does not breathe, does not speak, does not do anything. It lays there, face down and stuffed into a pillow.
Then, sobbing. She's hurt, she's lonely, though she can't do anything
She can't move, she can't ask for help, she can't. She can't. The girl wallows in self pity, hatred amongst herself, more sadness, more tears
until the dry up again, and she's still laying there, unable to move. Her body is tired, hands shaking, mind racing, but quiet.
Why don't you ask for help when you need it?
She can't stand it anymore, but she can't motivate herself enough to get out of it, to break the chains with her invisible axe, to swim from the very bottom of the ocean all the way to the water lapping at the shore. Instead, she has these fits, swallows tons of water in s single gulp, cries a river until all of the water is gone, no longer suffocating.
But the feeling comes back around again, one day, whether she likes it or not. And when it does, it crashes down on her like a tidal wave. She has to start again, and again, and again.
She can't do this herself, but she's too hurt to ask. The chains are made out of her emotions. Worthless, doesn't care, has no sympathy, over exaggerative, no love to give, no love to receive.
The girl is too afraid that everything said is true, and if it is, she's got no one to turn to. Only herself, who doesn't even have the energy to lift her up over and over again.
Come save me.
YOU ARE READING
Star Struck
PoetryThis is a little collection of poems I've made. Not sure how long I'll continue it, but I'll make a few. {Completed! There's a sequel book if you'd like to read it, the sequel is called "Milky Way"} Note: This was called "Book of Poems" previously...
