There’s nobody left here to listen, just my therapist,
And I have to check my words at the door.
I know you’re watching it unravel from the precipice
With that little smirk I always adored.
My eyes can’t meet yours, not just yet.
The doctors keep telling me that I shouldn’t see you.
I can’t afford to lose another royal bet,
But the sharp winds force me to retreat too.
What will become of this story, my bogeyman?
Will I write myself dry or respect your last wishes?
You just want me to run as far as I can
While in my head we’re breaking oaths and dishes.
Still, there’s no one left to hear me out,
And everyone who knew me found a reason to flee.
The silence you grant me tastes like a drought.
I’m trying to decide if this woe is my prophecy.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 