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Serena M Aug 2019
I remember posing for you on the boat, long gone now
The city tore it down and we
Failed to keep ours afloat

My hair was blonde when we first met
Starving artists living on a prayer
At Timothy’s we congregated for coffee
You saw how I was so young and jaded
I felt my heart beat like a butterfly
My soul stopped and stared at yours, without knowing
Whispering, “This is fated”

Long before we both got sick
I whispered to you in your bed
“You don’t know the difference between
A kiss and
A Pin-*****”
Little did I know then,
I was speaking
For myself, as well

On the darkest day of November
I ran to your side, of course
I sensed
A disturbance in the force
I preferred the devil I knew
To the one I’d never saw

I had demons of my own, under my skin
No time to get caught up in
Someone else’s sins

“Throw me a bone
I’m caught up in a storm
Of my own”

Knock knock
You were there
When no one else
Listened, understood
Or did me any good

I thought we were good

II- Stockholm Syndrome

You showed me a love I’d never known
At the time it felt almost enchanted
Our poison made us take it for granted

I got to run away for a while
I always liked your impeccable style
Your charm began to blur the alarm system
We walked mile by mile
Further than I had
In my twenty-some years

And then, came the tears
My third eye lost it’s sight
When poison coursed through veins
Crying as the sun rose into light with disdain
“Lay down my fists
Here comes more pain.”

Help me! I’d cry
As I lived out my lie
Every needle plunge exclaimed
“You’re gonna die.”

I would sink into
The living room rug as hell opened up
The devil sneering “we’re waiting for you, buttercup”

I would try doing less
Then the bedroom was a mess, then the bathroom
Every room was prevailed
By doom

Poison to flower;
My soul was devoured
Once your wild rose

I slowly began to decompose

When I looked in the mirror
“Alana” had disappeared
My body simply a host
For lost souls,
Hungry ghosts

The war had just begun
You shut the large blinds
Said to me without looking
“You are not the sun.”

I think that was the moment
I realized I could not keep you
Or your heart
Any longer

I sat on the bathroom floor and wrote
I stared at my arms for hours
Sore, bulbous in areas, scarred
Bruised, yellowed like a sick yew
I noticed
My skin has began to redden and peel in lesions
Trees losing leaves, changing with the seasons

Cigarettes, stress, drugs- Psoriasis
The dermatologist told me in her tidy office
The best part
Of that day
Was catching the bus with my little ticket
Pulling my knees in, and listening to sad songs peacefully
Whimsically repeating the dark melodrama,
The things I believed in-
That I was in love
That I was miserable
The things that felt safe

What I feared most was dying alone and in pain
But the worst
Was yet to come

Time passed
By April I had been fired
Because mine had burned out
Taking too many sick days
Originally out of anxiety and lack of social adaptiveness
Breeding into
Pure hedonism and sloth
You hated that
You were so ill
You wanted money to keep going (and eventually die?)
Or perhaps you wanted me, not to give up on myself
You never said so

Your presence dwindled
I spent my last $3.50 on grapenut ice cream
To see you
To be with you
To share something with you
You were there but you weren’t

I started thinking about suicide as it began to build up
The weight of the lies, the drugs, the empty
The dog’s sad eyes and your self-neglect
My credit cards were maxed
My arms were a minefield and my legs,
Looked like a very hungry caterpillar had chewed them up

One night you broke…
I found the courage to speak to you
And you said I “had started all of this”
When I “had began staying with you”

In fact: I had come to your side, my best friend turned lover
To take care of you.
When I was 20 years old

I ran off and bawled,
Harder than I could ever remember
I felt my heart break in my chest and cried harder
You yelled my pet name and said my cries were cute
You taunted me
You were a mad man

(That I saw as a baby boy, somehow)

You never slept with me in the bedroom anymore anyway, so I set up camp
I had my supplies
I had my spoon
(the little one) and then
When you would amble around
Take off, leave me
I’d get into your concoction
In your not-so-secret hiding spot
(I knew our apartment like the back of my hand by now)
It was on a dark, stained wooden bookcase you’d had for years
Placed up high, out of sight
But never out of mind

Every shot at this point
Was a “shot in the dark” ...potent
A ****** up sort of Russian Roulette
Dancing with a devil that only
Pretended to care

I don’t blame you for resenting me
And I think it goes the other way around
I had to go, and you had to move on

I wonder everyday how the hell my heart is still beating
This is a piece about a very traumatic and self destructive time in my left. I wrote this as a sort of closure as I processed things.
Pauline Morris Feb 2016
I don't want to kick the hornets nest
But I am felling quit depressed
And begaining to get awful distressed
There is things I need to express
Because my chest is really compressed
I know it's from all the stress
It will be hard for you to digest
But I have to get this off my chest
This problem must be addressed
I think it is for the best
That all of it is confessed
I know after I tell you, me you'll detest
But maybe that's for the best

Oooh never mind
I'll just keep these hornets in their hive
And stay in the shadows and hide

— The End —