Hide Until I Return


I told him not to stay up for me

because I knew

I was hurting him but I couldn’t care.

That’s how it’s like,

after the knife goes deep enough,

after the first few handfuls of pills.

He deserved better–

maybe a little guilt on my part,

maybe some shame or an apology.

But I couldn’t give him that.

I wasn’t happy, and I wasn’t safe,

but I was perfectly content being reckless.

I didn’t care who I hurt.

I didn’t care about anything, really.

I couldn’t.

But if I bled enough, and numbed my senses enough,

maybe I could wade through all the chaos

in my mind and reach that one place where I could

hide.

It takes more and more to find it,

but I know that once I get there, I can

make it back out.

And when I return to whatever reality

I’m supposed to be in, everything will be okay.

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About thefreescribbler

My life is one of words. I am a scribbler, whose thoughts are best expressed through adjectives and phrases and punctuation marks. I would not go so far as to call myself a writer, although many would disagree. I’m characterized more by my unfinished works and half-embodied ideas, scraps of stories and parts of poems. Maybe one day I’ll be a writer, but I’m okay with being a scribbler right now. It fits my personality and style, and best expresses my aims. I’m not trying to create some lofty version of literature. I’m just a kid blogging about life. View all posts by thefreescribbler

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