Hold me a little closer and drown out the lies. Their words are becoming truth, snakes under my skin.
I can no longer find the quiet spaces I used to retreat to. She has been taken from me. My secrets have been snatched, still untold, but not mine to tell anymore.
I feel like the dull ache in your legs after a Thursday night shift. Like the emptiness of being awake at 3 Am. All the time.
I can taste hostility in the back of my throat. Sour grapes, hard to bite into. I scrape my tongue with a tooth brush laden with paste as Mum always told me that was how you got rid of bad breath.
Her words rest on my tongue now.
The edging of lace on my grandmother’s table. My fingertips pull at the edges. Photographs, paintings, of those who do not want my eyes there are screaming at me. I am wasting away in my own way. On the inside I am dying, drying. A dried, feeble daisy.
There is no brightness in the hollow of now. The sound is screeching, moving to the beat of a thousand electro hits. It’s a dark tunnel. Most people think and fear loudly in 140 characters or less. I fear permanency.
If the cold rain could wash us away, down the sidewalk, to a drain. If we could run through the cobblestones and create irregular rectangle patterns through the cracks of less accepting times, well, maybe, that would be for the best. Quieter at least.