The last time I saw you, we were alone.
The last time I saw you, I’d started to run.
It’d been years since you’d said those things for the first time,
Years since the first time you made me feel them
The way the grown people do.
Your smile was mischievous, like a killer’s
Before they grow into killing.
Behind your head curled plumes of smoke, blurred.
The corner of my eye could tell, but too many of
Your eyes had fixated on mine.
Arson. And no one would believe me.
No one could understand, because your
Eyes had stolen my tongue while I was busy
Trying to listen
To whispers and apparitions
That disassembled
On touch and sight.
There are no gods for us. There are no Great Lifts,
No Heavy Burdens, no Broken Hearts. No Prophets.
None of these are real.
Speechless. I will never be speechless.
My feet tread the path, and my knees bear the weight.
My eyes, fixed on the ground, have only seen a handful
Of others, each with their eyes on the ground, too.
Take what you will. I am not afraid anymore.
My tongue is mine, and will never be yours. And in it
Is everything I will need
To stop running.
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 11:38 PM UTC
The last time I saw you, we were alone.
The last time I saw you, I’d started to run.
It’d been years since you’d said those things for the first time,
Years since the first time you made me feel them
The way the grown people do.
Your smile was mischievous, like a killer’s
Before they grow into killing.
Behind your head curled plumes of smoke, blurred.
The corner of my eye could tell, but too many of
Your eyes had fixated on mine.
Arson. And no one would believe me.
No one could understand, because your
Eyes had stolen my tongue while I was busy
Trying to listen
To whispers and apparitions
That disassembled
On touch and sight.
There are no gods for us. There are no Great Lifts,
No Heavy Burdens, no Broken Hearts. No Prophets.
None of these are real.
Speechless. I will never be speechless.
My feet tread the path, and my knees bear the weight.
My eyes, fixed on the ground, have only seen a handful
Of others, each with their eyes on the ground, too.
Take what you will. I am not afraid anymore.
My tongue is mine, and will never be yours. And in it
Is everything I will need
To stop running.
I don't always like to explain my stuff, but this one feels like it needs it: This is (straight up, no point in lying) about depression. It's me talking to depression about the first time I felt depressed, and a sort of fear that I've carried ever since, a fear that it will come back.
Just something I've been thinking about recently. I think I might change this, or use the same structure to talk about something else. Doesn't feel like I got it all out here, even though I like a couple of the stanzas.