It’s embarrassing honestly. You’re the closest thing to home I ever get anymore, a reoccurring nightmare. I can’t drown you out. Trying to get rid of you is impossible. How can one rip sinew from their own bones? Even disassociating, your voice infests me. It nests inside of my eardrums, it spreads in waves over my skin. I’m coated in the honey of your existence. Words glide from your mouth into the air; even the dust stands aside for your hymn. Your sentences rest slowly from one side to the other on our small universe, like a hand smoothing a label over a bottle. Our world, a $1.79 Coca-Cola; a compact room full of numb teeth and suspicious glances. Our people. Eternal children. My eyes well with tears every time I look at us, how ugly we’ve become! You can see it; us. Our blood filling with silt, our septums deviating, our feet burning on cement, our darkened lungs, our jordan almond teeth ground like pepper. You don’t pretend not to notice. Any moment you spend hesitant on a breath, we hang on our toes waiting for you to address what we’ve become. We’re hungry, please let us sit at your table and eat plates full of bible pages again. Oh, but your nerve! Silence would be better than how you respond, ignorance even more so. Instead, you fill the space with noise. You feed us dirt until we’re full, grab a plate and eat along right next to us. You go for seconds, lay among us and pretend to feel our pain. What’s that? You don’t want to be God anymore? Your disciples bite at your ankles and reach at your hands like infants, addicts. How terrible was your two-step fall from Grace? Still several steps above us. When did we become less? When did you become more? How did we become s e p e r a t e ? I remember. Piece by piece, hidden under my tongue, resting behind my retinas, and laying in my eardrum, is the beginning. The silent world. The days of telling jokes to the cherry trees and sleeping on warm sand. I used to spend hours braiding weeds and eating wild rhubarb. At times I can still taste it, the tartness that yanked on my teeth followed by the sweet of the spoons of sugar I devoured seconds after. Life continued to run rampant around me. Trash seeped over the world, arguments were still loud, getting hit still hurt, and going hungry still made my stomach ache, but all in all, I was blissfully alone. If the sun was shining, it was a mostly decent day. I ignored everything, but the wind. It’s sweet songs ran through my hair and wrapped around my fingers, at times it whipped my cheeks, but it’s crescendo put me to sleep, so I looked past it. My life was closed windows, four stocks of sunflowers and endless amounts of time in my head. I left my window open. You own the world, you must’ve decided you owned my window too. Always invited, always welcome, always anything or anyone you wanted. That’s the way it’s always been and for reasons unbeknownst to me, I became one of the many things you wanted. Oh, how cunning you were. You made me crowns of words, words with meaning. You sent me smiles of alabaster and filled my ears with a voice like eucalyptus drops. Master of tongues, a voice like yours could talk me into making a noose with my own hair, the depth of it warm like mahogany, but the exertion smooth like fingering marbles. Even now, I wish nothing more than to hear your voice when I’m alone. But the sweetest of all sweet things, was when you lead me to world I didn’t know I was missing out on. That’s when I met all of us. A blonde boy with hazel eyes, a boy with tangerine hair and warm eyes, and even more along the way. All the while, your dilated blue eyes consumed me. I was enveloped by your world, the ocean of streetlights, the stars hiding in the grass, running down the middle of streets while the moon disappeared and all we could depend on was the length of our voices. It was beyond me. I was a rabbit living among a pack of rats. Nothing was off limits to anyone, the whole world an invitation. We were cherubs that though we were devils. All I had known was where I came from. Behind closed windows, my fingers were repeatedly bloody, digging in my skin to pull out bullets. Parent’s divorce. Bang! Mom’s drunk. Bang! Fight at school. Bang! CPS called again. Bang! Each bullet felt exactly the same, surface pain. Nothing could’ve prepared me for the incendiary round you aimed right at my head. TO BE CONTINUED OR DELETED WHEN IM SOBER
romaincrisis
kaledo-art
dededos
origamiaround
janainaart
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
prguitarman
