I applied to a Bunch of summer programs last year

Mon, 10/24/2016 - 11:51 -- J3ffery

You reach for the knife, slide it in deep enough to cut, and reveal the contents inside of a card.

Those dreadful words, "Thank you for applying we are sorry...." You set the card aside along with the rest.

 

You lock yourself and the world becomes no bigger than the space between your door and the light switch.

The outside world keeps spinning yet you seem to be falling.

 

What could've caused this lack of esteem to wonder in and replace all your hopeful dreams.

The doctors say its an imbalance in the brain, however you accredit it to a deficiency of a time that was once lovely.

 

Before the applications and taxes, before the need for a job.

You want it back, you want it all back. The lazy weekends.

The Netflix marathons you could afford.

 

Tears subside, stress induces, your heart, torn apart in bruises.

You yell at the walls as they become smaller, you cry alone as you drown in a world full of fire.

You're so sick of getting burned you're no longer you, you're just a cadaver, a cog in a machine known as society.

A puppet that feels controlled by the bill collector, a puppet who sees no way out. A puppet who is standing in the shadow of its own doubt.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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