Surprise attacks
The fox's claws are halfway lodged through my throat
Unclenching the muscles won't help now
Nor will removing the palms pressed to where my Adam's Apple would be
But its friendly bob would do nothing to stop the relentless blood
From each half-moon piercing the skin.
I don't know how to say what I'm thinking right now
The imagining of the chair connecting with the windowsill
The glass raining down on me,
Diamonds, my mind says
As a way to comfort me as I rage against
Everything my blood tells me to do,
Where I want to go
Yet at home,
There's the desire to punish,
Release the unspoken burdens I carry in the view of all around me
And explode from the calmness of safety;
The unconditionality of love:
The only thing I wish I could find somewhere more frequented than the home;
Somewhere more intimate than inside my own soul.
I wanted it to be easier now that I've spoken it out loud.
Now that someone else sees me, too.
Oh, how I wish the pretty little world would return and older now, I could breathe in and out every hint of toxic helium
Until the blissful laughter killed me.
I'm stuck with the fox's half-moon attacks,
Find the panic rising because this is what I brought to myself
When I let the world foster the fox
Into a miserable thing once a month
Who will never look outside of the box
They kept it trapped in.
Invisible boxes, I find
Are the most satisfying to claw and pace around
Because although familiar, the blood turns to cold, cold, fire
And routinely
They disassociate until you have exhausted yourself.
Begin; again.
Find the dark, sing to it.
Enjoy the loneliness because it has blanketed the diamonds
Swallow down the vomit of how far you've come
And accept their scowls as compliments
To the desire to have to destroy yourself
In order to be seen by them.
Maybe, then they'll let you in on their little secret -
That the dark touches them too,
But they're far better at hiding it because they have never kn0wn it as deep
And drowning,
clawing
and burdening as me.
About the Creator
Ruby Red
Heya friend, I'm Red!
I write poetry, so subscribe for a hint of vulnerability, some honesty and the occasional glimpse behind my mask π±
Taking a break from Vocal; focusing on my anthology π«Άπ
AI is not art.



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