Is naïveté my middle name? Did I make a fool of myself? Am I telling myself sweet lies to candy-coat reality? What’s really important? Is it me? I think not.
All the old habits come back to haunt me. I beg and plead but still they come back to me. I am rotting flesh and they are the flies who relish putrid meat. Naïveté is my middle name but Pathetic is my first.
I fill my ears, stuff them, really, with blood-soaked cotton. I want to believe the murmurs that make their way through. Sometimes I do. But in the end, I know it’s all lies. The oozing sludge drips off my earlobe onto my shoulder. For some reason, I lift my finger and lick it.
My first name is Pathetic and my last… is mine to keep.
tara caribou | ©2019
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