you know who you are?
an easy bitch.
a fucking mess,
the, the biggest mistake I had ever encountered and I,
i am so sick, of your shit.
ok! i want you out. I want you gone.
i want, no, I need you out of my life now.
she said to the bloodstained pencil tip
a pencil that she used to write away the pains
of hearing mommy and daddy screaming next to her
because her room had no walls.
it was a "living room".
or the pencil she used to do what she only knew how to do,
be a good student,
that couldn't even get straight a's like everyone else.
the easiest years of your life were the hardest, but not for them.
not for the pencil.
no, he just joined along on the ride and watched the tears drop,
the hands clenching the heart that was bleeding out
and could never be repaired.
it rolled away from her hand when they kicked her stomach
and the last gasp of humanity escape her
she was merely the concrete that we step on.
and it would continue to roll,
like her,
until she reached the bathroom floor
the only other thing of color that reflected against the white tiles.
that damn pencil and her.
the only thing that stayed with her.
the blood that would form along her forearms in the diameter of its tip.
because she knew writing in red ink signaled a mistake
she made sure that the ink never dried out.
because the pencil was her chisel,
the body served as the paint and the canvas.
the picture would eventually dry and the chisel would no longer be needed.
but her art work would need a title.
she looked down at the marks made by her chisel and she titled it,
"the moment You took control".
YOU ARE READING
anxiety attacks
Поэзияa series of poems written during depressive episodes and anxiety attacks in my 1st and 2nd year of undergrad, where life seemed so close to ending. and it felt like it was all my fault. DISCLAIMER: these are the darkest poems written at honestly th...
