maladaptive daydreaming: a poetic prose piece

Sometimes, I like to stop in my tracks and mourn the loss I faced when you faded. I listen to the songs you brainwashed me into associating with the highest, falsest hopes; then, I allow myself to bask in the harsh reality that there isn’t always a justifiable reason to stay faithful. I like to read my old journals and soak up the foul-mouthed, facetious, willfully ignorant coping mechanisms hidden between the blue-grey lines. I find a sickening amount of joy in revisiting the empty daydreams you planted in my skull like poisonous seeds, like the seeds of forget me nots. I relish in remembering how it felt to have somebody on stand-by to watch me untangle my gordian knots. I’m utterly obsessed with my past delusions, obsessed with obsessing over what could have been. I’m a traumatized, nostalgic soul who lives inside the pages of a dusty photo album. I’m a sanctimonious songbird catapulted into one future that never should have happened, all the while trapped inside some hyper-vigilant hypothetical that still might never solidify.

I don’t care if you think that makes me crazy, as long as you know that I’m right.

#poeticprose #trauma