NUMBING THE PESTERSIED

By Samantha Molloy

I stare at you,

your lips moving like sharp machetes, slicing through air,

each word digging its grave into the softest chambers of my body.

Your voice is no lullaby.

It’s a serrated edge, etching me deep, leaving scabs

that cling, stubborn as my grandmother’s warnings.

They split when I try to walk away, again and again,

your echoes running riot through my bloodstream.

So I reach for that tiny pill,

sun washed white, smooth as a borrowed promise.

Place it on my tongue,

wash it down with a sip of wine,

red and bitter but warm as church hymns.

Let it spread through me,

Because I’ve always loved the shimmer of escape, the hum of “not here.”

And for a heartbeat, the clocks hold their breath,

not truly stopped, I know better,

but in this slice of stillness, it feels like I own time.

Your words disintegrate to static,

my worries float untethered,

anxieties dissolve into the higher, purple octave,

of my own mind’s symphony.

For a moment, I am untouchable.

For a moment, I have rewired the cage.

For a moment,

freedom tastes real.

If only for that fleeting fragment,

I hold it in my mouth like a secret name I might forget tomorrow.

#darkpoetsclub