S o i I t u d e
S o i I t u d e short story stories

amandamalagone pretty words on a sad screen
Autoplay OFF   •   4 years ago
inside the head of depression

S o i I t u d e

Crisp morning air fills my lungs as phosphenes in my eyes adjust.

My alarm clock wasn’t set to go off for another ten minutes.

Just like every other day, instead of the bellowing alarm I’m awaken by mere earsplitting silence.

I’d rather have an alarm nagging in my ear than be robbed of my only serenity.

No birds. No cars. No children waiting for the bus.

Just ten minutes of pure silence sitting by my bedside grimly mocking me.

The pale light from the sleepy sun dances through the blinds and spills stripes onto my ivory comforter.

The stripes broadcasts my olive toned thighs of all the scars I’d afflicted.

Dawn after dawn, I wake up to those same despondent stripes of light sprawled out on my legs.

Comes dusk, I’m in bed with the silver grey light of the moon gently wrapping it’s silky ribbon around my anticipating thighs.

Nevertheless, night time is only ephemeral.

Every person in my life carries a heavy sack of burnt sienna bricks over their weary shoulders, demanding answers for this demented and dismal burden.

I open my acid coated mouth and allow stale words to spill out but my disembodied voice is always muffled.

No one ever listens, they just hear, leaving me twisted like a rung out rag.

A rose’s sharp prickly thorn beckons for my clammy hands with its honeyed voice.

I promise you every word that slips away from my fumbling lips belt out thousands of troubled thoughts constantly setting my brain ablaze.

Inaudible and in a state of oblivion, I sit here with that dark red metallic scent on my shaking hands.

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