You were my enabler.
You provoked and praised
the most pitiful, pathetic
parts of me.
Letting go of you meant more
than letting go of bad habits.
It meant escaping a version of myself
that I never desired to know.
Tag: Me
Affirmations
The serene words
stamped and secured
to my tea sachet
cannot console me.
The ink of the inspirationalaffirmation sits ignored,
wet and blurred by either
tears or condensation.
Which one I do not know.
Burdens
We are strangers, you and I.
Two people only aware
of one another's existence.
Yet I am desperate to tell you
my most awful secrets...
My most shameful
silent sufferings.
Would you like to hear them?
Would you like to help me
carry my burdens?
Disconnected
Your number is still in my phone,
yet I know I'll never call.
At this point it's simply an area code
and seven digits held between a couple
little dashes.
That's all it is.
A series of symbols secured to a dead line.
Yet I still refuse delete it.
I still cannot let you go.
Purgatory
You are my purgatory,
a perfect medium between
heaven and hell.
I crave your warmth,
yet I fear it just as much.
Woven
Eventually her string of lies
became hard for even her to follow.
She couldn't remember what she had said,
who she told what, or what was believed between whom.
She had woven a web
without an apparent end.
The truth hidden somewhere
between a single fiber.
Apart
What if all we have left
in common are memories?
What if the only thing
still holding us together
are the days that we felt
we would never be apart?
Suffocating
We breathe the same air,
yet I am the one suffocating.
How is it that you can fill
your lungs with such ease
while mine burn and bellow
in agony?
Language
We existed together as witty innuendos
and double entendres.
Our sarcasm became blatant
and often drifted to the edge of indecency.
Yet that was our language...
Smart yet immature.
Intelligent yet crude.
But now our once familiar language
has been translated into something so vastly foreign and incomprehensible to me.
The banter I loved now lost.
Our words polite and mediocre at best.
Deteriorating
Silken strands cling to my fingers
each time I touch my hair.
Evidence of my stress has begun
to reveal itself as fine blonde filaments
fall from their follicles.
My anxiety now deteriorating
more than just the inside of my head.
AO Poetry 
You must be logged in to post a comment.