Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Roux Brown Aug 2019
the lines on your arms
suspend you in your past
you try to convince yourself that you've won
but when your little sister asks
'what're those marks?'
you crash back down into the pain
Roux Brown May 2019
Fog
It descends like a dull fog from the invisible abyss

Heavy

Thick

Numbing.

It imposes an obscure weight upon your limbs
Droops and sags your now unresponsive features
As you sink into the sour depths of inescapable solitude.

Your body abandons you
Your clouded mind shrivels up like your finger-tips after you lay limp in the tub for hours.

The fog vaporises your very being
You grab a stranger on the street and beg them to slap you
A fleeting attempt to escape the unresponsiveness that consumes you.

Futile.

This black fog drags you into declension
Stealing your essence and light with each relapse.

Inexorable.

— The End —