On jail terms.

I can still feel the breeze that rustles through the trees
And misty memories of days gone by
We could never see tomorrow, no one said a word about the sorrow.

***

The clock has been ticking, yet I swear time has not been passing. Being thrown into a black hole, I didn’t reject much; yet the emptiness this time around, is stronger, deeper, more haunting than ever. Pulling bedsheets, struggling eyelids, anxiety lingering at the back of my mind, oh and him.

“You died, really.” - I’ve been told. My whereabouts have been questioned with repetition, worried looks and perhaps confusion. I must admit, this sensation is undefinable. It feels like a rollercoaster ride, without the adenaline. It feels like torture, without the sense of relief when it leaves. It feels like an ordinary day, without the sensabilities of a sisxteen-year-old teenager. Tossing hair, i have been found gazing blankly at the early spring petals in the yard quite often. Pretty aren’t they? I wonder if they mock my life day in and out. This messy disposition - the growing habit of throwing the handbag on the floor, collapsing on the piling mattress, hoping to forget another day; the everlasting desperacy for caffeine and illicit substances, knowing that escaping is not the answer; the denial of having a fragile mind, a fragile soul, the denial has spread far too broad. I’m almost starting to forget how it used to be, let alone go back to living that way.

Speaking of weak souls my friends, I must bring up the hazel eyes. Actually, maybe another time - when the mind finds itself in a more lured state, when the truth doesn’t hurt that much. If that day ever comes, before the even most wretched hearts decides to give in.