My Poetic Attempts

One- Relapse

I often think back to the time I was like this.

A broken jewelry box shattered, scattered across my desolate bedroom floor.

Letting myself just feel, depriving myself of better judgement.

Door to my back, I sit huddled in close to my own torment and grief.

Hearing them scratching at the wood, determined to give me sweet relief.

I hear them now.

They are crawling in through my windows.

Sniffing me out like bloodhounds looking for the killer in a crowd.

I look for them, but they are no where to be found.

I mistook them for genuine remorse.

But they mean worse then any outsider could imagine.

I know now; I have for a while.

Know how they cling to you like a warm smile but leave an impression of destruction in their wake.

A catastrophic crater in your subconscious.

Strength and determination quickly turn to anguish and frustration in the presence of these creatures of darkness.

Lovers of pain.

We're all falling.

Drowning in an uninhabited sea of life.

Surrounded by nothing as you float aimlessly on your back, through the gentle dips and turns of the waves.

Praying silently you slip under the surface into the seemingly endless dark.

No.

Don't let them take your life.

Rob you of your flight and your freedom and your might.

Push through the masses of fright and water even as the salted taste burns and sickens your throat.

It feels nice;

To be so close to the edge of life and death.

One wrong move...

One move... and everything is over, is done, is no more.

You dip your head under the water and watch as the bubbles of your breath race each other to the surface, to life.

Your lungs hint at a struggle as your breath runs out, warning you of your incoming need to breathe.

Shaking the feeling off, you hold yourself under.

I hold myself under.

Until all that is left of me,

Is in the memory of others.

Only one picture and a note remains in my behalf.

Bends and rips edge the paper who's first line reads 'I'm sorry, it's not my fault this happened. And it's not yours either.'

Locked up tight in my jewelry box.

With its mirrored finish illuminated by the sun, it cries.

It cries for the girl it saw shattered, scattered across the desolate bedroom floor.

It just wishes,

It could glue her back together,

Like she did for it.

I often think back to the time I was like this.

~Abby 🌹