Is this really how things are supposed to be?
Not voluntary isolation,
but thrown out into a pitch black alley,
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.