“Are you happy?”

Scratching out the words I wrote,
I began to filter.
Accept the hardness of tap water,
Rough, crackling skin,
Accept the carefully folded napkins,
Hiding what was not ate.
Scratching out the words that I wrote,
I began to filter,
Catch myself before the words took flight,
Before they could clumsily attempt to leave the nest.
Scratching out the words I wrote,
I took in air,
And did not exhale.
As my chest and ribcage exploded with negativity,
Excavating entire ruins.
Something took hold,
A sword in hand,
And pranced left to right,
And then forward,
Forcing my words into a corner.
Scratching out the words I wrote,
I thought that I had done it –
I had crawled into my coffin,
Pulling the heavy lid,
With a slam that shook the room –
Behind me.
Scratching out the words I wrote,
I laid on a stone slab
Waiting for the gauze covering,
The flowers clipped,
Ready to die alongside my dreams.
Scratching just at the surface,
My words one by one,
Fell like dried leaves,
And crunched underfoot.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s