Poetry

I am an empty room filled with a cold mist that is dripping with loneliness

I feel it on every inch of my skin as it engulfs me longingly

I feel lonely like it grows on trees and hangs in the warm bitter air that flows through my lungs

I feel lonely like the distant sound of buses and cars that you hear walking down a side street late at night

But this lonely isn’t an unbound freedom

This lonely makes me feel trapped

It makes my thoughts feel like a snake wrapping around me like I’m its prey

Like with every uneasy breath, the walls surrounding me close in just a little more

This lonely is the quickening of my pace as the sun draws beneath the horizon

Making me feel so alone that I flinch at the movement of every inconspicuous shadow lying deep in the back of my mind

My week has been a painful cry out of lonely

My lonely has been falling asleep in its just slightly uncomfortable bed in the room it should have cleaned worrying about all the little things

It takes its time to cross the road but wonders if even that is worth the effort

My lonely forgets to listen when others are talking, becoming an expert at guessing the answer to an unknown question

My lonely forgets to breathe

It forgets that if I don’t stop thinking, my mind is going to implode on itself

But not before I lose it

My lonely sits in a classroom and stares at the wall so long it starts playing tricks on itself

My lonely eats and eats and eats so much it craves starving itself

My lonely wants to take a break from overthinking but can’t because its thoughts are stuck on repeat on a CD that it can’t take out

My lonely is feeling sorrow and heartbreak and terror when It smells a familiar smell or sees a familiar face

My lonely makes my skin an artwork- with my sadness the paintbrush

My lonely has me chained on the inside of my head and won’t let me escape

My lonely can no longer trust anyone else because every time it has, it’s only left me with more anguish, more regret

My lonely is crying out for help but its voice is just a faint scream under a stormy ocean

My lonely has had better days

Anonymous

You’ve come at last my friend, my foe?

I can smell the wretched stench of your breath from miles afar.

Many times, I thought it was you at the door of my heart,

but now your sickly fingers have finally taken grasp.

I can feel your cool, calloused hands against the warm,

beating of my heart.

Your merciless, sharp nails poised. Ready to pierce.

So, this is what you came for?

My bloodied,

broken

heart.

But before you take what is mine,

let me say these last few words:

I’ve been waiting my whole life for you,

death my dear, old friend.

Mara