deepundergroundpoetry.com
Throat
Depression is holding onto me by my throat, willing me to let him stay encased inside of my lungs, inside of the home that he has built around of them.
He is like the sweetest drug that I have ever tasted, because no matter how bad I yearn to get away from him, he is always there to welcome me back home.
I do not know how to be whole without him, and how sad it is, to ache for the thing that's almost killed you.
He holds me inside of his chest until I forget that I am there, that I too am living.
It is such a romantic notion, him and I ; because he is tethered to my spine and he sips wine from the indentions in my hips and kisses the scars that litter my thighs that he has caused me.
He is holding onto me by the base of my throat, willing me to let him stay encased inside of my lungs, inside of the home that he has built around them.
He is holding me by my throat, willing me to let him stay inside of this mausoleum that is I, his favorite home.
And it is so hard to fight against him, even when I want to so badly.
Because he is like the finest wine, the sweetest taste.
He is all hate, all pain ; He is every four hour shower until the water is so cold it cuts like knives.
He is holding me by my throat, willing me to let him stay inside of this mausoleum that is I, His favorite home.
He is like the sweetest drug that I have ever tasted, because no matter how bad I yearn to get away from him, he is always there to welcome me back home.
I do not know how to be whole without him, and how sad it is, to ache for the thing that's almost killed you.
He holds me inside of his chest until I forget that I am there, that I too am living.
It is such a romantic notion, him and I ; because he is tethered to my spine and he sips wine from the indentions in my hips and kisses the scars that litter my thighs that he has caused me.
He is holding onto me by the base of my throat, willing me to let him stay encased inside of my lungs, inside of the home that he has built around them.
He is holding me by my throat, willing me to let him stay inside of this mausoleum that is I, his favorite home.
And it is so hard to fight against him, even when I want to so badly.
Because he is like the finest wine, the sweetest taste.
He is all hate, all pain ; He is every four hour shower until the water is so cold it cuts like knives.
He is holding me by my throat, willing me to let him stay inside of this mausoleum that is I, His favorite home.
Published 28th Jul 2021
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Anonymous
28th Jul 2021 5:12am
Really enjoy the details here--the throat, the lungs, the showers, the self-harm...
Then there's the nice self-awareness: the speaker know that she desires this, on some level, if only for...well, whatever reasons.
The depression is personified, and the relationship is presented as highly dysfunctional.
Honest critique: the repetition loses steam for me, toward the end.
Found much to enjoy here.
Then there's the nice self-awareness: the speaker know that she desires this, on some level, if only for...well, whatever reasons.
The depression is personified, and the relationship is presented as highly dysfunctional.
Honest critique: the repetition loses steam for me, toward the end.
Found much to enjoy here.
8th Aug 2021 5:18pm
10th Aug 2021 6:52pm
