I remember pressing my
innocent ears to the mouths
of discarded seashells, just to
hear their secrets; and I shared mine.
They told me secrets in the form of
ocean waves and whispers of wind
between the fingers of the palms.

On days that I feel the world
crumbling and combusting
around me, I press my wiser
ears to the same lips that kept
all my secrets safe. I remember
the advice seashells gave to a
young girl who'd felt discarded.
Be like the ocean, let it flow.

I stalked our horoscopes;
I deciphered the coffee grounds.
I even took the time piecing
the broken mirror back together
to read between the cracks,
in hopes I'd receive a sign.

The Universe told me to
stop searching the unknown
for answers I already know.
My coffee grounds suggested
that I needed to sleep, and
the shattered mirror crooned:
"Put yourself back together
before you try to mend another."

Faux happiness bursts
through my internal seams. The
truth will be revealed.

Better days are coming.

You can find my grave
buried beneath the practiced,
perfected simper.
Don't confuse the glow behind
my lids as life. No one's home.

How do I silence the screeching
Of the monsters inside of me?
Scowling phantoms cast judgement,
Plaguing my body with a sickness;
Insignificance in a cyclical pattern.
Transfigure this wasteland into
An alluring garden; a sort of haven.
Lure the beasts away so I may sleep

This song is an acrostic poem based off the song "Hospital" by Lydia, from the album Illuminate.

Vivid; chaotic.
Hallucinations cloud my
perception of truth.
I question my subconscious
of its own insanity.

Gucci and Xanax;
Diamonds that contrast against
tanned skin like old bruises.

Designer lampshades,
your taste as expensive
as the lobster on your lips.

Envious eyes crave
your artificial joy.
Your smile is so convincing.

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