Poetry

Me, Myself, and I

Me, Myself, and I

In constant company with each other

We are staring at the floor, looking for secrets there; It doesn’t even have the courtesy to make eye contact

We try conversing with the walls, their ears are kind enough to listen, but they are silent

Moving on

We try cuddling with the loveseat, it doesn’t hold us back, so why is it called a loveseat… lies

We are cold so we hug each other, we get hot and push each other away, we alternate between the two, a self-imposed contradiction, a conundrum, restless

We’re half alive, a quarter dead, a quarter in between, in some sort of purgatorial limbo, Not living, just here, though it is the lesser part, the quarter dead exudes dominance over us.

We don’t want heaven, what more is there to do when you’ve done everything you should have; it’s too late to pretend we are innocent; it’s too late to pretend we believe in something

We’d rather be in hell, if there is such a thing; we know our worth there, plenty of sinners to talk to, scream with, with fire in our souls to galvanize us into action to do what, we don’t know

Excuse us, we think we hear the walls responding to our plight and we mustn’t be rude

3 thoughts on “Me, Myself, and I”

  1. Reblogged this on Notes and commented:
    I always tell others the best company I enjoy most is my own cause everyone else has to leave (even for restroom). But I stay with me, no matter what. Lauren explains it better than me over here.

    Liked by 1 person

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