Misery, Misery, Misery

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 devour 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 | ©2019-2022 revised

23 Comments on “Misery, Misery, Misery

  1. Nothing does more to reveal ones pain than cutting yourself open physically and or…rhetorically and then claim full responsibility.
    This is authentic writing, written from spilled blood drops.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Isn’t it sad that we seem to always revert to the tried and true things that hurt us? It’s tough to peel back the layers that hide what is really at the core. Great writing as always, Tara.

    Liked by 1 person

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Robert Charboneau.

Writer and Artist

living document

a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind

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