iRelle

I got a little melodramatic last night and had a go at writing… It turned out a little bleak, but here it is… It’s called

Oblivion

She cocoons herself inside,

Her self-pity stifling her reality;

Turning the tap of sympathy off, hard.

-

She jams the everlasting, nerve-wracking ‘please’,

And the never-ending, nail-biting ‘help’,

All that’s left is the dull, tortured ‘me’.

-

It curls inside her, settling down to sleep,

A white fog of cotton; sterile, institutional.

Sour as coconut, Tart as saccharine.

-

It swirls inside her psyche,

Like scented talc in a windowless room;

Caulking the cracks, holding the silence in.

-

Outside they wait, muttering pleas.

Their fingers nervously tap, tap, tap,

Against the chalky shell of her solitude.

-

But she slumps against the wall,

Her fingernails etching her story into her skin

As she lets her self-pity stifle her reality.

—-

Full props to Andrew for helping me edit it, too!

You Might Like...