Trying to silence my head
I take a sip of something I don't want
maybe I can drown them out
I grab my pen
hysterically, I begin to write them down
maybe they will leave my head
I listen to loud noises
to try and block them out
maybe silence will come
I try to fill my imagination
with someone else's thoughts
maybe they will inspire happy ones
I close my eyes as I lay in bed
begging myself to make it stop
maybe the darkness will help
But I finish it
and it's all still there
maybe another drink will help
So I go for the next
About the Creator
Esme Alvarez
I started writing as a way of getting things off my chest or head. It makes me feel a little less crazy. To those that are living in fear due to mental illness: you are strong, you are a warrior and you are not alone.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson4 days ago in Fiction
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