frequently alone
only company is my phone
quarantine so everything's closed
parents don't want me to leave the home

miss my friends and normal life
it's more than just being outside
it's human connections and meeting eyes
the hollow feeling gets worse at night

reaching out to figments of my past
the joy of rekindling never lasts
strangers wanna talk but never ask
i'm drowning but no one wants to save my ***

Today
worry hangs on me
like a mill stone

yesterday
I was flooded
with guilt

which felt more
like an albatross

maybe tomorrow
I'll wear a barrel of Brandy
around my neck

trust me
I'd be okay
with rope burns

Whit Howland © 2020

she is in pain
the quiet kind

there are no
cuts or scars

there are no
lumps or bruises

there are no
screams or tears

nothing is broken
nothing ever heals

A place and time for every word
said and heard

Never once felt, left alone on the
word book pictured

Meaningful or meaningless, aimlessly targeted, the word muttered
thankfully went unheard

Hurt nor hurled, the word lost in between
playing boomerang

A place and time for every word
said and heard

You aren't the
light
at the end of
the tunnel,
you're a pit that
you dug,
and I fell into.

You aren't the
prize in the
******* jack box,
you're the
popcorn and peanuts that
I choke on.

You aren't the
lovely path that
winds through
the autumn maples
and elms.
You're the muddy
road to hell.

You sure aren't
the bluebird in my
heart,
you're the albatross that
plagues my dreams.

And in case you
think I was fooled,
you aren't the
person you said
you were.

And over time,
My pen stopped bleeding
But my heart didn't