Lost Is

The prison bars jolted between my lips when no one even knows I’m in jail. 

It’s when the endless medicated chapstick application won’t budge them loose. 

It’s the realization that I’ve been comatose,

 hooked up to my own feeding tube of toxins, 

when I claim I was just taking a quick nap, with minimal drool. 

It’s all the stink bugs taken away from their morning paper route 

and abruptly buzz-kill flushed down the toilet,

never returning home. 

It’s the mulch inside my puppy’s stomach that turns to unidentifiable mush, 

suffocated and knotted into green plastic bags, 

underhand softball tossed into the trash. 

It’s the non-committal relationship with myself when my communication feels rat poisoned, 

finding out it’s the 3rd time this month I’ve strayed away from fidelity. 

It’s the fist-filled choke hold of anxiety, 

reeking of strangled projects, and ridiculous library late fees. 

It’s finding something triple-stuffed with beauty that my emotional gps spasms, 

and my gas gage teases me with emptiness. 

•••don’t even skip to found yet, just sit with lost

Reviews

[Dark_Duckling]

I actually really like this poem, you set up a lot of vivid imagery throughout the piece.
I also enjoy the closing statement of the poem " •••don’t even skip to found yet, just sit with lost"
Leaves a lot of room for the reader's imagination.