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Lian Oct 2016
Be pure.
At 19 years you should still be
Brand new.
Like a white dress
With the tags still on.

White as snow
You won’t find home here.
Plain and cold.
An emptiness that could swallow you whole.

l.s.
inspired by Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar
Lian Oct 2016
Still
there are days
when I feel
overcome with feelings of missing home
as I stare at
my own ceiling in bed.

l.s.
Lian Oct 2016
I am so thirsty.
I sip and sip
But still my throat is dry
And hot.
I feel the air growing thicker.
Or maybe thinner…
It is so hard to tell.
Why is it so hard to tell?
All I know is it is hard to breath.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe!
I feel myself letting go.
What is it that I am releasing?
What do I have to hold on to?
And I gasp and grasp at the air
Yet I will find no reassurance
And no comfort.
I am greeted with the harsh wind of truth
Which stings my cheeks and blinds me,
Shards of broken glass cutting me down.
Breaking me down.
Soon there will be nothing left.
I do not want to let go.
I want to hold on.
I want to be here.
I want. I want. I need.
I need a drink.
I sip and sip
It trickles down,
touching every inch of me.
It scorches my throat
And scalds my stomach.
It does not
Satisfy me.
I do not know why
I continue to sip
This dreadful elixir.
It is too late.
For it has already put a spell on me.

l.s.
Lian Oct 2016
Look up
At the quilt of blackness
Which engulfs us
Thousands of glowing eyes watching
Reminding us how small and fragile
We are.

I sit here listening to the trees
Share their secrets
singing you to sleep
As I wonder if you’re dreaming of sunsets or the sea.

The road has been long
And the hike up hill.
We have wandered all day and far into the night.
You are worn and dirtied.
Yet still glowing.
My heart is full but not heavy.

l.s.
Lian Oct 2016
I shower everyday but
It is not enough
I can not be clean enough.
I need to be cleaner.
Cleaner. Cleaner. Cleaner.
I want to be clean and new
But every rinse leaves me withering
It is drying
My skin leaving me
in cracks and holes
My hair is falling out.
I do not remember the last time
I scrubbed every inch of the filth away.
It clings to me.
It has found shelter in me.
It is a part of me.
I want to be clean.
I want it gone.
I do not remember the last time I was clean.
I do not remember the last time I showered.

l.s.

— The End —