March, March to the Screams

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Reliving unwanted memories of a questionable past

Submitted: February 23, 2014

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Submitted: February 23, 2014



Sitting here trying to transcribe my emotions into words, failing just as badly as the last attempt. I broke all the remotes to my shit years ago, almost ten years to the date. Am I lying around alive in a dead world or am I as good as dead already in a world that is oh so thriving. Is it my subconscious’ way of punishing me or am I just lazy? Judging my days on how many times I’ve bitten myself that day. It’s funny how things work out so indecisively.
Two years of running from the truth. Two years of falling apart and into place at the same time. Losing friends, losing ends, losing time, losing amends. There are no words you could whisper or even scream that will make me love you like I did before. Nothing will ever be the same. The first time when you were in the showered and I found you lying there, my eyes were skipping gin front of me. I didn’t know what was going on. It was like a hidden den. A cave, a secret feature on a DVD that you fucking hate. A picture that brings back nothing but fear and unwanted memories. Stolen emotions, you robbed me of years of myself. Now I’ve spent another two trying to finally pull myself out from under the dead weight formally known as our love. Being nothing got better. I expected to wake up one day and everything is completely different. Instead I woke up angry and confused and silent. I would feel your arms around me and want to hit one of us. I wanted you to go away go away and you did. You went so far away and never came back. You said it was to get me to get you to stay. It didn’t work. You left me here. You left your child. Does anyone know how it feels to be connected to every person you see, and feel their emptiness. Your emptiness. Llamas is just a weird word. Looking at all those people and knowing they are just as confused as you are and you get overwhelmed with sadness. I want to tell everyone what I need to hear. Talk to myself thru others. Have you looked in the mirror and told yourself that you love you and that you are going to be okay and actually believe it? It’s a lot harder than it looks. Go ahead, try. I bet you won’t do it. I probably won’t even do it. I’m just going to set here and continue typing on the typewriter. I suppose the other typewriter is the other typewriter and this typewriter is this typewriter. I swear I am not an illiterate and I can actually spell. It’s just hard to get my brain to conform to my physical body’s request. I haven’t really eaten in two days

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