End of the College-Ruled Line
I’m at my wit’s end. Pages running thinner than my patience, water diving over the tub’s ledge, and words becoming tainted by the minute. The pressure is deafening and the darkness is calling — beckoning for me to dip just one toe. Terminally familiar with the ripple effect of that one polished toe. It will surely be my demise.
Sexy. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Better half. Stephie Baby. Irresistible. The good ex. Incredibly strong. ENOUGH.
I can’t stand to be lied to. Maybe that’s why I fancy the fetal position; submissive to gravity alone. I’m frantic and frazzled and all together fucked up. Tempted to submerge myself in nothingness since I already indulged a taste. My mouth is watering for more seclusion.
It feels as these beings’ sole purpose is to isolate me — but how naive! It’s not about me… it never was. “isn’t that the point” bleeds my #2 pencil. Even my medium for speech is second rate. I’m exasperated with others; words aspiring to define me; I’ll write what’s right. Right now, I’m not alright. I feel indifferent admitting it, but my intuition whispers this is your new leaf of loose leaf. I sharpen my mind and turn the page.
Thanks for reading.
Become a writer for us
Submit your stories here
