deepundergroundpoetry.com

five reasons I lock the doors

1, This town will suck the life from you. The outside has a
 way of getting in. It smells of blood and dirt and decay
 after the rain. I sit inside and close my eyes, imagining the
 bright lights of faraway places where I havenít let you kick
 me into the colour of small town pavement. This is why I lock
 the doors.

2, I canít remember the street names but I know the earth
 better than my own skin. Whenever I turn around youíre still
 there, handing me make up for my birthday over caramel lattes
 in the coffee shop I no longer call mine, or getting drunk at
 9 in the morning in my ground floor apartment, playing
 Yahtzee . And your old street still stands like a mountain
 overlooking the bottle shop, and I canít pass by it without
 remembering the way I let you poison every part of me.

3, I remember bleeding arms and jagged knives and the way you
 screamed me into oblivion, your fist connecting with the wall
 beside my head, when we both know youíd rather have been
 punching my face instead. The small things had a way of
 growing beasts in their veins until you exploded. I breathed
 in 8 am whiskey and a joint, wearing long sleeves in summer
 to cover up the scars your voice inflicted.

4, Death followed me around in your wake. Road kill I tripped
 over running from the echo of your rage. I wanted to walk
 into the middle of nowhere that day, lie down in an empty
 field and never get up, but the sun beat me back into your
 apologies, my skin raw and red and waiting for the cracks in
 your amour to slip and leave me with more bruises than I left
 with.

5, No one ever told me love isn't created equal, and I watched
 the way you burned your world to the ground, and me with it,
 until betrayal became the only way out. The cracks in the
 pavements became abysses I skirted around, afraid the devil
 in you would suck me in. Enemies appeared in the faces of
 strangers on street corners, ringtones and knocks at the door
 leaving me cowering against refuge walls, praying it wasnít
 you, or the fist of someone youíd paid off to get to me.
 Three years later Iím still waiting, because the outside has
 a way of getting in, and bringing you with it.

This is why I lock the doors.

© Indie Adams 2015
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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