His Souther
There was a faint sound of static in the background,
As he choked out my name with this heaviness.
He failed to conceal it, but behind his words I heard the sound
Of drunk sobs and an echo in his heart's emptiness.
I listened as his voice engulfed me like the ghost of hands.
Loneliness urged him to make his sorrows known,
Insecurity strummed on his heart's strands.
He tripped on words as if they were stones.
He pulled me through the line to see his souther,
Of endless forests with faded footsteps,
Where days slipped past as if chasing another,
And drowning transcended with excess.
Anger buried him in phrases he'd regret.
Taking residence in foreign lesions.
He deserved not anguish nor torment,
However served it with much pleasing.
He tried to find remedies through the ruins,
Of the red ink staining the insides of his body.
It took the form of spirits and ten aspirins,
Worse than mother's tea of poison ivy.
There was a faintsound of static in the background,
As he choked out my name with this heaviness.
I could hear the serotonin try to impound,
However left this ritual in its bareness.
• • •
a/n
Hi lovies! I know that I have not been consistent with posting but honestly, in some degree I believe that is a good thing. To expand, I used to use writing as a form of dealing with strong negative emotions and as time passes by, I either feel such things less and less or develop other ways to cope. To add, I would just like to thank you all for your continuous support throughout my inconsistency, it really makes my day. Hope you're doing great and are keeping safe! <3
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The Lace Age | ongoing.
Poesie"My head is full of thorns too harmful to leave unattended. " A collection of poems, short stories and free speeches. Copyright Ariana Miriam.
