izz_midnight

there's a jar on my nightstand;

it used to be my grandmother's

but i recycled her memory 

into a pandora's box full of happiness.

the slips of paper are periwinkle

with dark purple penned messily,

I wake up under covers or chains,

Alone in a bed I didn't sleep in,

Clothes like a straight-jacket around my limbs,

My thoughts locked in the prison of my brain.

Outside it is snowing—a cotton cover,

my horoscope said i would lose someone dear to me,

you've never really believed in that astrology,

but i click on yours, and what i see staring back

My life is like a lake,

All water and round,

So clear it is a mirror,

Or rather, a looking glass.

But when you look a little closer,

Dip your toes beneath the surface,

this happens too often:

attachment to that one friend;

a text—a hey—oh look,

i'm crying again.

you read it but you don't respond,

you play your games instead;