Anxiety locked me in this panic room,
forced the gun in my hand and told me
it’s my turn. We’re actively engaged in
a game of russian roulette with my fears,
each shot spraying my thoughts on the
walls, repainting with my brain.
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Silence and loneliness work hand-in-hand
to create feelings without sound and
noise without sentiment.
Loneliness is the quiet friend,
mumbling so you cannot understand
his secrets, giving himself the
Silence is loud, screaming in your
ears With a shrill ring, filling up
the space loneliness left behind
Their blood splatters your clothes
as they fight for the heart of empty.
Emptiness is beautiful, spilling blonde
hair and blue eyes in areas you
believed could hold nothing more than
the bunk-beds quiet and alone share.
Your body is the room they’re filling
with their presence and it’s almost
time to pick some new renters.
When I was little, I loved to build
myself pillow kingdoms. I loved
the security the polyester stuffing
could promise me, secluding me
from make-believe monsters that
wanted me vulnerable. Then, I
got older and hiding behind
threaded walls from make-believe
monsters with words on their
fangs and my blood on their
clothes was no longer considered