Solipsistic Introvert

There you go

two words define you

as easily as the two syllables in your name

And after you are gone

these words will move on

to find someone sane

And all you will leave behind

a faint whisper of your misery,

few ashes in an urn, confined.

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let me say this before you purists take offence, this ain’t poetry. Have not categorized it (or anything else on this page) as such. This is what I want it to be, this is what you understand it to be.

As always, thank you for reading.

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In conversation with.

Talk me off a ledge
you’ve put me on
Let me breathe
free from you
You are a struggle
and I want to win
So I keep trying
until I give up
I could be happy
but are you?

You will always
exist in my shadow
Can’t let you go
do I even want to?

……………………..

Another one bites the dust.

Now her gods lie abandoned
on lined shelves
Collecting dust
Instead of hastily whispered prayers

They aren’t wrong,
but neither is she
Faith lost
Impasse reached

Secretly believes
maybe in them
or in her
Matchboxes remain unused

Ambush.

As I write this, I’m blinded by the steady stream of tears escaping from my eyes and falling unceremoniously onto my bed sheet. The fact that I have been incapable of discovering the reason for their initiation astounds me.
Gingerly, I pick up my phone, do what every female on this planet does whilst in this situation and call a friend. By  doing so I succumb to a trait tauntingly  attributed to females and since I am not usually for all this sappy emotional crap, this act delivers the second surprise of the night.

Disconnected, no, not the call but I feel so. The phone, on the other hand keeps ringing.