don't look under the bed

her fingers tremble 
pulling the sheets over her head 
telling herself 
not to go to that place 
tucked away in her mind 

 the curiosity is like a simmering pot on the stove 
bubbling 
rolling 
eventually spilling over 
and then there's no stopping it 
water splashing everywhere 
burning brown on the hot eye 

 shoving the top on the pot doesn't help 
it just floats away and clamors to the floor 
bang

 she removes the sheet 
pulls herself to the edge of the bed 
nails digging into the mattress 
breaths coming in gasps 
that barely resemble normalcy 
bated
she's offering herself 
as bait 

 slowly, she hangs her head 


over the edge
she's over the ledge 
blood rushing to the veins in her head
a river
it's too late 
she's falling off the lip of the cliff 
and there's no going back now 

 "I won't be afraid." 

 The decision to face her fears 
the monster under the bed 

 it's breathing heavily 
hot and putrid 
long fingernail 
beckoning her

 she stops breathing 
and crawls into the space 
on her knees 
is her heart pounding 
or has it 
stopped





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Gilded Gold

Image
Laying there languidly barely caressed by the sweet wind swirling around your ears and in and out of the baby hairs on your arm lifting a few long hairs from your head, dancing across your face the sun is gilding you with golden brown sugar dripping down from its rays slowly slowly you close your eyes and let go. it's that feeling some people try to force with anything they can pure bliss warm, gilded gold.  you hear the sweet wind fluttering each leaf sounding like maracas the birds just small creatures who know nothing else but those leaves one songbird calls calmly to his mate who echos him they let each other know where they are never too far from one another always close enough to echo it's not a song of desperation or a lost, hollow cry for help they're warmed in gilded, dripping gold from the sun. i will always echo you i'll always be close enough to hear you call out for me.
Read more

Seasons

Autumn is coming. I can't explain why this makes me so nostalgic, can't really pinpoint the feeling it gives me. It's almost like a hopeful, expectant feeling. I think that I feel about Fall how others feel about Spring. Spring is when everything is happening, blooming, growing, existing and being beautiful. Fall is when leaves start dying (although they look pretty while doing it) and things start hunkering down, preparing for that Winter hibernation. So why do I feel so much when Fall is coming? I get excited. Things always happen in the Fall,  I suppose. Just different things than Spring things. It's linked to school starting back and to the beginning of the holidays. Summer flings turn into serious relationships that, if they survive all the way through Winter, could turn into the real deal. The air turns brisk, and it tastes different. Feels less like you're wading through it and it has more of an atmosphere, almost a certain sound . And of course there are s...
Read more

one more word & you won't survive

out in the center line cars passing by on either side nobody is looking at you. nobody sees you peeling back your layers peeling and tearing at your skin until your stomach is a gaping hole, the white hot energy coursing into the different channels in your body your veins frayed, nerve endings jagged like wires ivory cage struggling to keep it all in you pull off different parts of yourself until you're too fragile and you scatter them all across the pavement ashes raining down like confetti, catching in the wind, feathers nobody is looking at you as your knees become one with the ground with a crack, splintering your bones blood trickles in strings and you're desperate for them to see, screaming at them to see and simultaneously hiding behind your fingers so they can't so they can't see what you're doing to yourself what would they think?
Read more