Whispering

Days meld together like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. Feelings are heavy, too heavy and they drown.

They drown me, they drown him, they drown you.

There is no lighthouse, no buoy. Only pressure, only suffocation, only struggling to the surface. But that’s the tricky part, there is no surface. Breaking free like action glass in a movie in unattainable.

Stuck.

Stuck in cement, your whole body immobile. Stuck in the depression, cuddled with the monsters under the bed.

I am the monster under the bed.

It’s cozy here, the demons know the best secrets. They whisper their tales until they’re louder, and louder.

They’re screaming and it won’t spill out, but there’s a back-up and it’s building.

My head is filled to the brim with whispering and the screaming and why won’t someone just yell

STOP.

No one’s there. No one heard.

I am alone,

and sunk,

and stuck.

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