The elixir of freedom
disappears without a proper goodbye.
I am its puppet.
It pulls my strings
and I dance.
I converse without a care and
take in the sweet sights and sounds.
In this moment,
life is grandiose.
The world is beginning to spin
and focus becomes foreign.
I continue to dance,
but the strings become worn.
My mania enchants me
As I sit on the torn couch.
The chipped paint and flickering bulb
remind me of my reality.
My head slams and
I swear I could feel it bruise.
No one ever tells you
how badly it hurts to feel numb.
And as I fall to my knees
I dedicate this poem to the floor
who holds me when no one else will.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC
The elixir of freedom
disappears without a proper goodbye.
I am its puppet.
It pulls my strings
and I dance.
I converse without a care and
take in the sweet sights and sounds.
In this moment,
life is grandiose.
The world is beginning to spin
and focus becomes foreign.
I continue to dance,
but the strings become worn.
My mania enchants me
As I sit on the torn couch.
The chipped paint and flickering bulb
remind me of my reality.
My head slams and
I swear I could feel it bruise.
No one ever tells you
how badly it hurts to feel numb.
And as I fall to my knees
I dedicate this poem to the floor
who holds me when no one else will.
written april 2015
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