have a cat.
I think I shall never forget the first time
seeing my mother’s new name
on a package with mine
I think she is getting better.
so am I.
one of these days,
you will ask me to hold you,
and I will crush you in my hands.
not through any ill intent,
but out of never learning to love
and never learning the art of being gentle
And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape
something is rotting.
the smell pervades the house, wafting through the halls, seeping under the doorframes.
it’s subtle at first. easy to ignore. i turn on a fan and soon enough I’ve gone noseblind.
it’s been three days. I found a little mouse dead on the floor. it’s small. too small.
the smell gets worse. the fan is on all the time now. I put perfume under my nose to block it out. eventually, I grow numb.
a week. there is no escaping it. I have looked everywhere. it has stained all my clothes. It is here, somewhere, the source of it.
it has been months. I cannot leave. I am weak. it affects me constantly.
something is rotting.
it is me. it has always been me.
it is slowly getting brighter outside.
the horror clawing at me as my eyes snap open,
terrified of images that are intangible
and cannot harm me any longer.
it is slowly getting brighter outside.
hii ik we don’t interact much, but i just want to say that i love seeing u pop up in my notifs !
i also really love ur poetry. i totally resonate w the emotions being conveyed :^) please don’t ever stop writing !!! <3
❤️ aww, thank you! the support is really appreciated! much love to you as well!!
I used to think you were a smart man
now I’m not so sure
in fact
I think you told us several times
when I was younger
that you were anything but
you scared me too much to test that
I hope the people who live in our old house
look at the dent in the freezer
that you nearly broke your foot making
because you wished you could have done
it to me instead
and wonder how it got there
and soon enough they will discover
the lines I scratched into the wood
into the walls
little traces of anger
it fills every support beam,
every wall,
every floorboard like rot
spreading
consuming
devouring
pictures where the sea and sky are no longer distinguishable
I would go through it all again for you
a hundred times
but I do not think I would still be me
when it was over
21. poetry, stream-of-consciousness, musings, aesthetic posts
64 posts