I am in fact
My own worst enemy.
Twisting my Insecurities
Like a knife in my heart,
The heaviness I feel won't ever subside
A constant weight to carry
Like the death of a pet.
So helpless to quiet the inner monologue
A silky sweet smoke-ridden voice
Thick with syrup, but nails on the chalkboard
It twists the truth to entertain its dark tales.
I am in fact my own worst enemy
Stuck in the dark reaches
A pit of despair
5 years taken off each time it opens its mouth
Each time I wish the stinging would vanish.
The wrenching of my heart
the heaviness of my stomach,
The stinging in my eyes,
I wish it would all just disappear
But the voice tells me
It tells me I am better off gone
Reiterating the echoes of the past-
Telling me I am not enough
The wrenching in my chest, twisting my heart
the stinging in my eyes and the heaviness in my stomach
It all builds
The voice inside me reminding me
I am my own worst enemy
I know this though,
never have time to forget.
And I still wish I would disappear.
About the Creator
Ria
An aspiring writer- My first time being a open book.
My poetry is emotionally driven and my short stories are widely inspired. I hope you find something in my collection that tickles your fancy. Thank you.
The Dryads are Calling
They say the forest by Phoenix River sings. Perhaps it is just the wind howling through the leaves, or a particular birdsong. But Percy Fisher knows better; he knows what lies in those woods, and he knows that the forest sings of his demise.
By Leigh Hooperabout 21 hours ago in Fiction
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