|Posted by Laura on January 16, 2015 at 1:55 AM|
How does it feel spending all your hours attached to a piece of furniture?
You love that couch more than you love me
My heartbeats must not be soft enough like the two cushions that you worship - floral, lifeless.
They own your soul and that’s why you spend your days there,
Lying like it’s a part of you.
I sometimes ponder if I burned that damned thing, would you leave?
Or would you sit in the place where it once stood – desperate, disoriented.
I am plagued by an inanimate object that you cater to.
It is okay to disappoint your flesh and blood, but not your block of fabric and springs.
In a sense it is perfect: no conflict or emotions, just a steady, stable piece work of man waiting for you with open arms.
While I am flawed: an unpredictable, broken, hurricane of emotions waiting for you with bleeding arms.
No wonder you choose to place your love where you do.
Categories: Loneliness, Pain, and Suicide