I follow you down the dark, dank stairway,
Not taking a glance back the way we came.
The footsteps I take are whispers;
No one can hear them but me.
But you still listen to my heartbeat
So you can sync it up with yours,
I feel a bonfire erupt in my gut;
A pulsing choler in my ears.
Though, I've learned when to shut up,
Throw away the key into the abyss,
Climb back up the stairs, out of these chains;
But we both know it'll never happen that way.
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
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