Day 2 : Of rusted hinges and graveyards
I get weary of talking about my sadness, don't you?
It gets boring after a while,
Just like blood gets boring,
As pain is boring.
You know this.
You know how you stop to feel bites after a while,
How your body gets used to the adrenaline rush,
Pain junkie?
How inappropriate.
It's quite nice to stop and wave hello
Every once in a while.
It's acceptable, understandable,
That you'd want to revisit burial sites-
Pour oil on rusted hinges.
Perhaps not,
Their squeaky noises are what keep us awake through the night,
The scratching sounds their claws make,
Are what let us know that we are not alone,
That we have never been.
We have our demons for company.
Invite them over for dinner.
©May
#sad
#depression
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