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deepundergroundpoetry.com

You come around, I'm ruined

TW - CA, DV
 
Hair pulled,
legs failing  
 
naked, wet pools  
- the length
 
of hall into sitting room,
twenty two steps
 
and eyes diverted, stomach in my heart,
I learnt nothing except people don't like
what they're unready to see  
as reality,
 
and people are better
left in the soft tempered dark -
 
when sat on the bed,
after painting me red,  
purple and green,
stroking my fading supplies
of energy and empathy,
you whispered  
 
"The grass is best left outside, kid."
and I wondered,
if I could live on the outside,
stare at the moon,  
watch the Sun die,
worry not for more
than fungi and pine.  
 
Whenever I'm lost  
I find my way back,
 
head in your lap,
wishing the way  
 
I felt for you didn't bind me
to living in your insides,
 
where I came from,
where I first fed,
heard a voice,  
heard the first breath,
first laugh,
 
those memories I severed
one Sunday when my mind had become too full
 
to take your calls, take your blows,
your vicious heart, always waiting,
 
and when we saw each other again,
that spring when you tried to lose your husk,
 
my body leaking,  
you told me "Fuck off,"  
if I came with home truths,
but I had no truth so I sat  
until the Doctor came,
never confessing all that had been.
 
No one wants a truth
when that truth is black and blue
and ever since
that is how truth has felt,
terrifying, like awaiting
a fresh kind of bruise.
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
Author's Note
https://youtu.be/6iJmIL83vas?si=kRegPwdqPGje2qbx
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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