She leaned back on her bedroom wall and sighed. She knew, God she knew, how much time she was wasting when there was so much to be doing, and how utterly useless she was being.
But she was tired.
She didn’t even know why she was tired. She barely did anything; today, yesterday, and the days before. Swirling her thoughts around, she wasn’t even sure if she was tired. Her emotions were switched off, and the switch was forgotten somewhere, deep inside her or left unseen in the clutter of her mind. There was too much junk inside and she probably filtered half of it at some point before giving up at the sheer amount.
Her head felt heavy, and so did her chest. God, I want it all to be over, she thinks, and stares a bit too long at the doorknob to her right, wondering if she could use that shoelace for the loop, or oh, there’s the sling bag strap too, but she doesn’t know how long it would hurt before it disappeared, before she disappeared, and she turns away. She fears pain.
Huh, she thinks, maybe that’s why my emotions are shut off. She wonders if it’s a conscious decision.
She wonders,
and wonders,
and wonders.
Until she falls into another restless sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Intersections, Thunderstorms and No Sense of Direction
PoetryRandom pieces that help me keep writing and expressing myself. Story excrepts or single sentences, whenever I feel inspired or sort through the rubble in my mind. [Warning: First few chapters were written when I was young. Please understand that I w...
