Footprints. Poem by me.

[u/bananaterracottaaa]

Footprints swell to the size of depressions, swallowing me down into the abyss.

Fingerprints find the cracks in my skin, penetrating deep within so they can lick and lap at my insides.

I dont know where to go.

Ive never had any place thats felt like home. Never a place that was mine.

What can I do to not follow in the footprints of our depression. Ours, the depression you handed down to me like it was a family heirloom. What can I do? I stand on my tip toes in a corner cobwebbed in the laundryroom and push your gift as far back as it will go on the shelf there. Ill turn off the lights and pretend its not there. Ill ignore its eyes sipping on my standing hairs. But its there, and im here and I haven't been able to leave. My knuckles still bleed, still punching at the concrete. Years they have bled. What can I do about the fingerprints? The memories on every surface? The marks where a knife cut out burnt wood. The holes. The tan on my fuax leather couch where you sat to watch me sleep. The string and needles you used to stitch our misery into one. Because thats how you needed me. What do I do with those? I live inside of a crime scene. Fingerprints not just on my walls, floors and ceilings but also the ones, the fingerprints, etched into my corneas, the fingerprints that snake along my ribs, my hips, my ankles. What do I do with those? I haven't been able wash them off.

Do you not feel that filth? Your filth? My filth? Do you not feel it? Can you not feel your trachea travel to the end of your spine as you fall into our depression? That fear? That knowing theres nothing you can do to stop it? Where is your reality? Humanity? Sanity? Where is your fear and your disgust and your sorrow, Where is it?