I want to go back
to a time before it all turned black,
and remember
before cold dismembering
took it all away.
Now I watch as time decays,
time stolen out of my naïve hands
and memories resemble hair strands,
barely visible, barely there.
A world coated with a grey meloncholic air,
a world that doesn't look up from the ground,
a world that has been deeply drowned.
I want to go back
to butter and syrup coated pancake stacks
to rainbow cotton candy whirled like a cyclone
to blue-colored tongues from licking sno-cones
to chewing pink bubble gum
to a time before everything was numb.
Now I watch as everything doesn't matter.
Everyone is silent with not the smallest bit of chatter.
No one cares or even pretends to.
No one even notices who is who.
I want to go back to feeling.
I want to go back to healing.
I want to go back to caring.
I want to go back to repairing.
I want to go back to screaming.
I want to go back to dreaming.
I want to go back to breathing.
I want to go back to being.
I want to go back.
YOU ARE READING
The Things We Don't Talk About
Poetry***Trigger Warning: Mental health, mental illness, eating disorders, suicidal ideation, self-harm*** A collection of poems delving into the dark side of the human experience. From high highs to low lows, emotion can be intense. And this collection s...
