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Hi, I'm Sophie.

This is my diary of all things lifestyle, travel, food, and creative.

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She Hunts You Down

She Hunts You Down

Consuming is what she does for leisure

Adrenaline-fueled and biting

at the end bits of my toes.

Day and night,

among the living and

the asleep.

 

My mother is gone

I remember her swollen fingers turning cold.

And still I wait for some impossible return.

 

Only she remains. She, the one who won’t let me eat.

She, who stuffs my gut with poisonous grief

until the thought of food makes my

teeth feel

tight.

 

She, Sorrow, wants to stay forever,

remind me of her liquid-hot blood running through

yes—those are still my veins.

 

She keeps you hopeful

anxious baby

waiting for my mother’s return.

 

My mother is still underground.

I exist in silence, searching for peace in the void

but Sorrow has me by the back of my neck.

 

My father doesn’t believe in Sorrow anymore.

He won’t carry me to my thrown in the therapist’s office

he says counselor, counselor

I say therapist and 

he reminds me of the money She is costing.

She is still here, my mother is still dead

And I am chewed, sucked, spit out again by my own mind.

The Dying Garden

The Dying Garden