Empty apartment, clear notifications and a burning closet. Three separate things reminding me of the trilogy of heartbreak you've put me through.
Through a stranger's eyes I look like a lame psychopath sitting by myself in between burning memories and second hand smoke, but only I and the ghost of you know the truth. Only we know who I'm sitting with.
Depression and anxiety keeping me in my place, your voice echoing through the walls and our pictures in broken frames on the floor. Broken glass is everywhere but so are my feelings, so are my demons and my bad thoughts.
Missed calls and ignored texts start piling up, missed occasions and tear filled-tissues do so too. I only ever open my phone for our pictures, the videos from our first dates. Those damn teasing smiles and twinkling eyes.
When will your ghost let me get over you?
YOU ARE READING
Emotional Torture.
PoetryCollection of poems and pieces written about daily struggles and tackling big world problems from the eyes of a teenager. Warning: Some chapters might be triggering. Triggers include: Suicide Eating disorder Self harm
