I tend to make- zombie friends
Yes, all my friends are- zombies
My gullible soul likes to believe that ANYONE can cure me from this poison inside me
This poison that comes out of my sweat, that comes out of my tears, and that keeps me awake at 4 AM
This poison titled "Loneliness"
I accept every rose they hand to me (as a gift to our friendship)
Even the ones with thorns so sharp that make my fist drip blood until my arm can't feel no more
My gullible soul likes to believe that my friends are, in fact, alive
Why else have they given me an ear to all my stories of my disasters and break downs and dark secrets?
They understand me, at least I-at least I think they do?
Every time I reach for a hug they instantly collapse into pieces
Every time I touch them....they break
Every. Time. I make. A zombie. Friend....
I don't understand, they must be alive, they have to be!
They're the only friends I have....
But maybe- maybe they are dead?
Maybe this whole time I made them into "my friends" because- they're dead
They really don't understand me then?
I'm so desperate for a talk, silence was my best friend this whole time I teared myself apart for those friends to say a word when they couldn't because- they're dead....
I remember now, the reason this loneliness is inside me is because I poisoned myself to commit suicide- or to escape the silence that was killing me more-
Then I must be dead too
I must be a zombie like my friends
YOU ARE READING
looking for myself
PoetryI write poems from the heart. Yes, they're very deep but that's what makes them into art. Please, enjoy my poetry. Thank you!
