5/30/2020 1 Comment Poems on DestructionIce cream and rednecks.
The floors covered in dollar bills-- smiles all over the ceiling. They drowned in their own happiness, and now their city is empty. In rapture, they felt nothing. They’d hoped it would be more dramatic... but they went quietly, and now they are but dusty memories on the shelves of their old houses and hotels. Animals own their cities. Slaves to their own memories, the key to their own undoing, and now it is only regret, that governs their sorrowful world.
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5/30/2020 2 Comments NovemberAlmost a year ago now, there I was. If I think hard enough, there I appear, a small skeleton, weighted by bones much heavier than my own. As the days have passed, the memories have become hazier, the feelings have become but muted hiccups and I grew skin where there once had been only a frail frame of a human girl.
Almost a year ago now, there I slept, in a bed that sunk me, protected me, in a bed that cushioned the blow but it did not ward off the sadness, it did not fight the demons outside the door. I look back on that weak girl--but I thought I was strong then too--I ran at life, I faced it with open eyes, bared teeth, but I was lost. I knew not what I ran towards, I used to not care. Almost a year ago now, I remember his face so well. I see every freckle as it melted off his skin and onto my own. We had one body, one mouth. Mine was irrelevant; I was not more than a mirror. I was not more. Almost a year ago now and so much as changed. I wish I could tell him all about it. Sometimes I imagine picking up the phone and hearing his voice, hearing him say hello with that sweet crescendo of notes saved only for me. Sometimes I picture coffee in the fog, or a drive out to the river like we used to take. Sometimes I miss him, but I do not miss myself. I do not miss the girl who used to sit in that passenger seat while someone else drove her life. Almost a year ago now and perhaps I live in fear. Perhaps a bit more fear than I should. Maybe I should trust more, practice committing to Something. Someone. Somewhere. But I am finally all that I need; I am finally all that I want. Almost a year and finally I am whole, finally I am strong. Finally, I am someone that I want to introduce around, someone not tied to a bed that drowns her in teardrops. Almost a year ago now and I’ve stopped seeing him in everything I look at. I have stopped crying with no reason. The sadness no longer governs me. I am more than my tragedies, more than a broken heart--a lost future. Almost a year ago now I set myself free. And never again will I be anything but that, never again, never again, never again. |
AuthorAvery Atlas is the author of all posted pieces. Archives
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