The ambivalence
trickles down my throat,
I feel it settling
inside of my stomach.
Indecision makes it's way into
every part of me.
I'm whimpering
from the devastation.
Painstakingly
stagnant.
Taking the necessary
measure so I can breathe.
Still it sits
like acid
inside of my stomach.
Awaiting the moment
I regurgitate it all back to you.
Memorizing the pain
like warning signs-
sketchy shadows
in a parking lot
so I kept my doors locked.
Turned the radio down
so I could prepare
for anything that would
make me afraid again.
You are the locked door
and the anxiety
of not remembering
if I took the right
precautions this time.
Maybe I didn't
check my rear view
close enough
and I have no idea
a car has been
following me for miles-
checking my progress
watching as I switch lanes
making sure I'm aware
of the imminent threat
it poses towards my future.
You are the stove
I can't remember if I left on.
You are the straightener
that burned a hole
through my carpet.
I was unaware
of the heat-
or the consequences
I just wanted to feel full-
to feel pretty.
I'm always looking backwards
at the damage
that has been made of me.
Seems I'm always
looking over my shoulder
expecting for you
to be standing there
reminding me why
there is nothing left of me.
The pieces I have
taped together have
your initials outlined
in the remains.
I can't rid of you-
Or the inhibition
or the hindrance
left inside of my bones.
I am a weak, frail
skeleton of a person.
Now I always,
keep my doors locked.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
The ambivalence
trickles down my throat,
I feel it settling
inside of my stomach.
Indecision makes it's way into
every part of me.
I'm whimpering
from the devastation.
Painstakingly
stagnant.
Taking the necessary
measure so I can breathe.
Still it sits
like acid
inside of my stomach.
Awaiting the moment
I regurgitate it all back to you.
Memorizing the pain
like warning signs-
sketchy shadows
in a parking lot
so I kept my doors locked.
Turned the radio down
so I could prepare
for anything that would
make me afraid again.
You are the locked door
and the anxiety
of not remembering
if I took the right
precautions this time.
Maybe I didn't
check my rear view
close enough
and I have no idea
a car has been
following me for miles-
checking my progress
watching as I switch lanes
making sure I'm aware
of the imminent threat
it poses towards my future.
You are the stove
I can't remember if I left on.
You are the straightener
that burned a hole
through my carpet.
I was unaware
of the heat-
or the consequences
I just wanted to feel full-
to feel pretty.
I'm always looking backwards
at the damage
that has been made of me.
Seems I'm always
looking over my shoulder
expecting for you
to be standing there
reminding me why
there is nothing left of me.
The pieces I have
taped together have
your initials outlined
in the remains.
I can't rid of you-
Or the inhibition
or the hindrance
left inside of my bones.
I am a weak, frail
skeleton of a person.
Now I always,
keep my doors locked.
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