Second mother.

I wrote this the night my grandmother died. I don’t know.

My melancholy melodies echo into the abyss but the screaming swan songs of regret rattle my brain like a high schooler slamming their door for the fifth time that night. A red waterfall cascading into a glass for the fifth time that night. I’m a distressed housewife curving my comedown shoveling benzos down my throat like air itself. I’m addicted to the suffering of others. “Bless theirs hearts” I force our under my breath as I break the dam of another bottle of comfort. 13 reasons why I should commit for the 10 things I hate about you. I Can’t Hardly Wait for the suffering to end.

Author's Note

Whatever

Reviews

[emmajoy]

'I’m addicted to the suffering of others. “Bless theirs hearts” I force our under my breath as I break the dam of another bottle of comfort.' From your own pain, you see others', that shows amazing awareness.

The words of this extraordinary write spit tragedy and at same time, make for tears, my friend. For anyone to write that way shows a hidden strength, perhaps, if i might say, is something with which to make magic.. not such darkness. Not sure what else to say other than I'll come read more of your work.. and, perhaps, become a friend. Take care, keep safe, please

[Friendly Neighborhood Scum]

Thanks for the kind words. I don’t post much on here but I’m going to try.