deepundergroundpoetry.com

the peeling paint is just in my imagination

I donít know this place anymore
the familiar walls canít contain me
when my head is elsewhere
in another place, in another time
without the safety Iíve fought
so long to preserve

You make me want to drink
Iím a lit cigarette
thatís just waiting for this time bomb
to run out of minutes and into a bottle
where I can forget the things
no 12 step program
could ever make me face

I know I am better than the sum
of my history
though my bad days would have me
forget just how hard I fought
to stay alive when the demons
whispered better things
on the other side of dying

And now Iím losing myself again
in the way your lies twist through
my descending brain chemistry
back to places where I was grateful
that I was too fucked up for anyone
to notice I wasnít quite passed out enough
not to hear the way murder rolled off their lips
or the way their hands caressed underage hips

In some worlds love and violence
are the same thing
and Iíve learnt the hard way that loneliness
is better than a hand around my throat
or a body pressed unwanted into mine
telling me itís all okay
if I just go with it
no matter what I actually want

I donít know this place anymore
the familiar walls canít contain me
though today I wish they would

© Indie Adams 2014
Indie
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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