Its been awfully quiet lately...seats that once were filled with ruptures of friendships and energy, now only dust and cobwebs infest.
My balloons deflated, just like the courage my heart had that kept me alive.
I'm alive but I'm dead, I dont know if it's worse to feel pre-dead, what I mean is that I am numb, jabbing a fork into my thigh and still I feel nothing.
Slander of all sorts thrown to my bare, naked self, what I mean is that I am vulnerable, I have this wall up but like everything else in my life, it's foundation was built with deceit, lies, misconceptions, stress and anxiety.
One, two, three, I used to tap my foot for no longer than a minute but lately it's been spiralling, recurring, a tragedy, my own holocaust, nightmare.
Everytime one tap overdrive itself, hammering, pounding into my sub- conscious I shiver at how deafening the sound is, ringing in my ear as my eyes shut and teeth clench.
It seems the more I try to reach for a glass of water or lock eyes with an individual my anxiety constantly reminds me I'm in it's territory.
Years of bundling into a ball to sleep, sleeping with my eyes open, mind imaging death so much it feels more like a memory.
My life is a monstrosity, but it's mine, Im stuck.
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Closed Mic Night
General FictionPoetry by Ladi. A collection of poetry opening a door of many, a creative that struggles with mental health.
