Imprisoned Thoughts

Therapist, I’m braindead.
I’m broke in Carolina,
bleeding with concentration filtering
my self-esteem.
I’m getting high off her supply of nude pictures she left
beside the bed, drawing me in like an addict.
White lights highlight the tattoos I’d gotten when
she loved me, too.
I did it to myself.
Truth revealed itself through a blank stare
and a crooked smile;
my numb veins warm the neutrons in the brain
I used to explain myself to her.
Aside from thoughts of her sweaty,
slim body wrapped around mine,
I’ve got no skeletons in my closet.

(© 2022 AC)

(WattpadAmazon Kindle.)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s