PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A self-destructive

addict

sits

smacking the veins in her heart –

and mind –

pumping

poison?

in her blood:

potions mixed with

stale novels,

fast music,

faster cars,

and petty acquaintances –

a leather-bound Bible at her feet

next to last week’s

Oedipus Rex

and a yellow-paged journal

filled with quests for an

undesired

truth.

A box of pens is

bleeding ink

in her broken dresser drawer

and she’ll never have the time to

fix

the hinges

or clean up the mass of

wasted

blackness

staining her socks.

I see

wadded up tissues

and unused

tubes of lipstick,

a permafrosted curling iron

and a dusty mirror –

the shadows of a girl

who used to care

but now

it’s not worth the effort.

A collage of memories

lies

stagnant

and stinking

showing rotting pictures of memories

mostly forgotten…

maybe better off forgotten…

Old text books never read

and dog-eared copies of fashion magazines

litter a shelf once used for

CDs…

Her mom’s old army jackets

hang

on the door frame

but the captain’s bars are

missing…

Mascara-tarnished

Q-tips

cover the bottom of a greasy trashcan

and there are

tiny bits of

fuzz

all over the carpet…

An overflowing hamper

looms angry in the closet

and the bedside lamp

needs a light bulb…

Amongst the posters of

fantasy heroes

and punk-rock idols,

the glowing yellow walls

and her favorite movie

playing quietly on her laptop…

amidst all these

comforts,

her big feather blanket

and soft kitty-bear,

the glittering ring on her finger

and the prospect of

kissing him

tomorrow…

the one thing that keeps coming back to

haunt her…

is how this place used to feel like home.