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she's lying six feet under
wondering where it went wrong.
was it the tightening gyre of
thoughts that seemed to
pull her in every second?
was it the panic that was grasping
onto her like a leech ─ stronger
every time she tried to shake it off?
or was it them? the people who
told her to calm down, that she
was crazy and out of control.
she preferred the term insane.
crazy is overused by the commons.
or maybe it wasn't anything at all
but her. she felt like she was in a
prison cell, one with no light.
the it was too vast and terrifying
to name with anything but a
pronoun. it is over now.
maybe this is where she rightly belonged. the grave; where she
could rest without having to worry about waking up to nightmares.
life was a nightmare.
she's awake ─ in death.
and then it dawns upon her as she
shifts in the dirt. the dirt that people
had buried her in two weeks ago.
but it was never about them.
it had always been her.
all this time ─
she wasn't in a prison cell.
she was the prison cell.
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a/n : wrote this for the lit society blog. tell me what y'all think.