The buzz you enjoy and regret

So I did it.

I did it all;

I cleaned up

my room,

read a book

on a stool.

Listened to every

lovely tune.

Watched a movie.

Made food.

And soon

I was soothed.

 

Content with the lavender tint on my hair, the number of eye lashes I have, the color of my iris and the things it's seen through my twenty years of inhaling, exhaling color and sound and breath.

 

But now the buzz is wearing off.

 

The buzz is wearing off

and the world is back

to blues and black.

My skin is the touch of rice

that I no longer eat.

And my mother's voice from

six years ago bleeds back

onto the pores of my skin.

I am bleach. I am the sound

that doesn't escape my throat.

 

I'm a bore,

haunted,

molded,

a piece of

rusty coal.

I need a sip

I'll regret.

And now...

Now I'm ready

to clean up

my room.

 

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/5emzj5/i_feel/dafr98z/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/5epc7j/world_of_shit/dafrf0f/