lost
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You cannot fight a ghost; feelings and people alike. When I sleep, my demons linger at night; each face bears a resemblance to people I’ve known in life. A cemetery for my tragedies settles in my mind. I’m haunted by my lack of strength and self-deprecating pride. A Trimester is worth a lifetime of guilt;
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My mind is miles before me and I feel so out of body. Repetitive in my actions obsessing over a routine that does not seem to fit. Chasing myself weighed down by my breath, the words that live on my lips refuse to be a part of written truth. Anxiety whispers to me, to believe
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The sound of the ivories being played lifts attention to my beating heart. The melody so sweet and without charm pierces my senses. I sing out into an open space, finding myself in a clearing where my wilted flowers lie. A once beautiful meadow built for color and life. I blame the sun, the moon,
Wishful Thinking 