Light weasels through
streaks of yellow and white
slow and calm
scanning my cryptic cocoon
missing me…
From dawn to dusk
haunting me…
I’m not ready…
Leave…
Tighter, I curl.
Please…
The unknown, beckons me.
Every few days,
the phone rings
Ma or Pa, throwing a confetti of
“Rise above it!”
“You are stronger than this”
Will my lies work this time?
It all ends the same,
with trails of unresolved sighs
as they swipe to leave the conversation.
Yes, I’m still here
on the ledge
but still here, breathing in
the choking hazard they call life.
I lay motionless
sprawled on the dusty-covered floor
mind muddled by the day’s chain reaction
of mundane absurdities
I’m exhausted into inaction
Ma, pa, my little sister
I can’t do it. How can I?
But I need…I need…
I heave a series of sighs and gulps
repeat…
gulps and sighs
was all the response I could muster
in the face of survival
The hope is, one day…
in my own way
I will arrive
To the few, I’ll post the clues
echoes of existence will ebb and flow
from this hollow heart
Love, I’ll get back to you.
— by anntidote —
Date written: before 2017
Sketch by Anntidote [June 27, 2025]