On the hard floor laying in a depressed state.
My heart rioting in its rusted cage.
My tears are flowing to drown the voices in my head.
I can see the bottle two inches from my face.
It's screaming peace lives within the confines of plastic.
The steely destruction of Mary's voice loudly lamenting for me to get up and do it.
I sit up and grab my supposed salvation.
Then in lightning peace of the moment, the pills whisper became a muffle as I soaked them in spit.
The room lit up as I saw my life finally having its desperation thrown into and oblivious limbo but alas my story doesn't end there.
You see my heart picked its lock and flew out of my mouth forcing every last pill out of my gaping hole of fear.
Set me forth to my freedom.
Spitting each of those pills back into their prison.
I became I riot ready to for the truth.
I stood on unsteady feet and reached for the door handle and through hell I found the meaning life and it is help.
YOU ARE READING
Salad Days
PoetrySad poems from sad and angry times. Written from a juvenile time (14 years old) to older. That's what you get when you leave a teen to ponder reality. A pen hits reality harder than high school survival. Original Art from Vivianne Rheaume
