Blankets ~ 12:09pm
it’s ironic, isn’t it
the way the moonlight can no longer shine through the window washed grime
the way the walls will stare and creak and blind
the way the space under the bed
can still swallow me whole
the way the yellow light will stain the carpet under my door
the way they scream like it’s worth fighting for
the way the chaos in my head
will still find lovely black solace
and to think i was once a stargirl
it’s ironic, isn’t it
my one lone protector
the sheets on my bed
when the sun falls asleep
grey drowns out red
and i’m lying and reminding myself that the world
my world
is a cozy place under those soft covers
and that maybe when grey turns to black with hours to waste
i won’t have to face another day that drags on in deadly indifference
knowing that the sun will fall and the moon may not rise and that darkness will follow daylight
and welcoming that
it’s ironic, isn’t it
that they are still awake
even after the sun kissed the world goodnight
i no longer call them my guardians
for they do not guard me
though nothing i have is worth protecting anymore
and nothing can protect me from myself
it’s ironic, isn’t it
the light the hallway sends accompanies their anger and shouts
i’ll block it out
the both of them
sacrifice a blanket
for night and silence
for dark and loneliness
for peace and quiet
i’ll throw it at the door
i’ll convince myself that i’m the last thing i should be fighting for
in all this selfishness i’ve yet to find happiness
but i can’t see around the corner
i can’t see through the walls
i’ve always settled for less and never made it around the block
i’d stop
and turn around
back to the screams
because there
there is still a place for me
isn’t it ironic
what i’ve known the most
and what i’ve needed the most
are like darkness and light
fire and ice
wrong and right
isn’t it ironic
i will always suffocate in blankets