Untitled #12

I grew tired of sleepless nights-

Contemplating life while simultaneously

Managing to not participate in it.

 

Memories become movies

I can no longer bear to watch-

The scratched DVD replaying the same scene

Till my eyes turned bloodshot red.

 

Sadness was a song I found beautiful

But now it brought me as much pleasure

As the triangle theorem

At a nine o'clock class

On a Monday morning.

 

Somewhere along the seemingly 

Never-ending stretch of dirt road

Whose dust reached up to choke me,

I found refuge in myself.

 

And the person I'd once been 

Became nothing more

Than a third grade year book picture.

Buried in a box, stored in the attic,

In the hope of never being seen again.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741