How long has it been?
5 minutes? 2 hours?
Why can't you move?
Because the pain from moving
Is not as soothing
As the pain of hoping for something new.
This bed has you sinking,
You need to stop thinking
Before it becomes your undoing.
But the idea of laying here
In order to disappear
Is far more appealing than going outside.
You need to eat.
You need to clean.
You're being pathetic
And it's pretty obscene how low you are stooping right now.
Wallowing in pity is obnoxiously dingy.
Why are we doing this again?
I know this isn't right
And I hate myself for it.
These thoughts are consuming,
With unstable notions looming
Overhead in this dark, silent room.
So.
Just handle it.
Get the fuck off the floor,
And go through that heavy door,
Before you are too far gone.
Because.
I am afraid.
I don't want to lose any more of myself.
YOU ARE READING
Uprooted
ПоэзияA collection of poems and artwork based on the experiences and struggles of an expat living in South Korea.
