Hands tied, gagged by the ball of fear you shoved into my mouth. You dragged me to the center of the room and pulled me up by my ribcage. Lips, puffy and quivering from crying.
The pain began to push through the narcotized haze I was in.
Before I started counting my regrets, before I let my mind expatiate the possibilities of my death
All I could think about, the only question I wanted to ask was,
“Were you scared when you lied to me?"
When I did, you threatened to take my tongue out.
At one point I became airborne
I flew into a thunderstorm
because it reminded me of your heartbeat
There were swords and liquids, but not you
Not the you that I held so close
Carbon dioxide fighting to escape my body but it had no where to go
Depression is a jealous God
I was writing for what felt like years with such vigor that the color bled from my eyes
Mountains of texts in every language surrounded me. An island of action, my singular goal was unknown even to myself. But oxygen was inferior, I snapped synapses and tore out parts of my nervous system. I was a writer, **** everything else.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 6:03 PM UTC
Hands tied, gagged by the ball of fear you shoved into my mouth. You dragged me to the center of the room and pulled me up by my ribcage. Lips, puffy and quivering from crying.
The pain began to push through the narcotized haze I was in.
Before I started counting my regrets, before I let my mind expatiate the possibilities of my death
All I could think about, the only question I wanted to ask was,
“Were you scared when you lied to me?"
When I did, you threatened to take my tongue out.
At one point I became airborne
I flew into a thunderstorm
because it reminded me of your heartbeat
There were swords and liquids, but not you
Not the you that I held so close
Carbon dioxide fighting to escape my body but it had no where to go
Depression is a jealous God
I was writing for what felt like years with such vigor that the color bled from my eyes
Mountains of texts in every language surrounded me. An island of action, my singular goal was unknown even to myself. But oxygen was inferior, I snapped synapses and tore out parts of my nervous system. I was a writer, **** everything else.
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