Thrown Out

Is this really how things are supposed to be?

Not voluntary isolation,

but thrown out into a pitch black alley,


and cold

and smelling of the miserable stench of self-pity.


Curled amongst the scraps,

pieces of hurtful memories

impaling me like shards of glass

from broken mirrors swimming with reflections

of monsters we don’t want to accept.


Back against a graffiti spattered wall

tagged with teenage euphoria

and the type of recklessness

that only came out in the desperation to come out

of moments like these.


Drowning in air

that was too thick with truth.

I can’t swim towards a shore that doesn’t want me there.

Maybe I should stop struggling.

Maybe I should let go.


…But I’ve made it this far.


There must be something meant for me.


There must be.






The contrast between

the smile as you came in

and the hurt as you leave

is a knife to the stomach.

A part

I thought seeing you

today after all this time

would be a really

happy occasion.

But here we sit, not talking

or even looking

at each other, and

I can’t help but think we’re close

to falling apart.