my dear,
my poor inner child,
you missed so much
for many years.
memories lost,
missed encounters,
a past long buried
deep inside, forgotten.
empty bottle,
circling smoke,
you can't escape
who haunts you deeply.
self-medicate,
hallucinate,
intoxicate your senses,
though all of it in vain.
don't dare to sleep
when monsters are near
because, my sweet little thing,
you became the one you fear
the most.
- C.
YOU ARE READING
𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐀
Poetryrigor samsa: n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time-and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more so...
