My Basement

There is no way for me to come right out and tell you all the things that I think inside my head. It’s a messy stingy basement full of odd smells and dirty laundry. I can try to find the words to explain how I wish that my hamper wasn’t overflowing with towels soaked in tears and t-shirts stained with memories that I don’t want to remember anymore. Mismatched socks scattered like ideas that end up full of holes. Tired, ragged clothes filled with hope and dreams and lies and fear. Unwearable, but I hold onto them like I hold on to the ideas of people and who they were to me if only for a moment. A stagnant smell of wasted time is overwhelming, a mixture of anxiety, panic, and the inability to let go of things that hurt me. The flickering light that swings from a chain on the ceiling, like me it isn’t sure if it's bright enough to shine light upon this darkness but it still tries. It may be broken but I'm still here. The door is locked from the inside. Closed off from the world no one can see my mess. I sit alone. In a stingy basement full of odd smells and dirty laundry, the light goes out