Marinate

I enjoy marinating in misery.

Suck the life out of me

as slow as you can.

Make it hurt, make it last.

I deserve it.

I don’t know what you’ve heard,

but I’m happy where you left me.

I am comfortable with my injuries.

Cocooned in my sorrow,

I am safe and hollow

and not worried about tomorrow.

I’ll sip champagne while the plane goes down,

and dance to the screams of the crowd.

I’m okay with not being okay.

Rather, I’m used to not being okay.

It’s my homeo-stay-this-way.

My, “I don’t want to leave this place,

it’s familiar and safe,

please, don’t take my pain away.”

Let me play the victim

while I still can.

Don’t hold my hand

unless you intend to break it.

Don’t be my friend

if you’re not here to fake it.

Don’t tell me the truth,

for heaven’s sake,

I don’t want to hear it.

Unless, of course,

it hurts.

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You'll find "Marinate" in my book "Flames Speak", out now. Buy here.