what do you do when you find my ghost at the end of the stairs?
do you scream or do you bury me under the wooden floorboards?
you looks at me with pity sometimes, like you cant understand why i am the way i am. i think when i eat cereal the same way at the same table everyday it bound to take a toll on me. when you smile at me with the left side of your face twitching, like you don’t want to but you have to, its bound to make me miserable. at some point monotony feels like i’m in the devils abode.
you shove your sadness in a dingy suitcase and i stitch it in zigzags on my sleeves for you to see.
[wear your heart on your sleeve/ i think i do unwillingly
today i went cloud watching and all the clouds resembled nothing. monotony is the devil but i think familiarity should at the very least keep me company. you call me resourceful but perhaps i’m just very good at hiding parts of me from you. i’m sorry. or i think i am. lately i cannot differentiate my honesty from the crippling need to be okay.
everything must be done in moderation, you say. i brew the tea too long to spite you and the bitterness makes you pour it down the sink.
i think i’m anything but moderate, am i too much even when i don’t feel enough? if i swing so high would i come back down?
what do you do when you find my ghost at the end of the stairs?
Author
Cerene
The Abandoned Woman, Female
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