Euphoria: A Poetry Collection by Rosemary - HTML preview

You would think it would be difficult for me to

handle change

but when it happens so much all you can ask for

is a constant variable.

My snowglobe.

e metallic tic

tic

tic

tic

before letting go of the turner.

Hearing the exact same tiny tune that kept me

from falling into the gray the first time.

e same tiny tune that was trapped in my mirror

but now I hold in my hands.

Everything is splendid,

wonderfully splendid

until the clocks stopped ticking.

Until the popcorn ceiling

is as smooth as JIF peanut butter.

Until I’m stuck staring at the space between the

floor and the door

and I taste the blood.

No, until I'm scratching the sound of the creaking

floor off my nose

and until the slow stretching of the beige walls

feels like the softest pastel blue.

All while I'm pulling the hairs on my eyebrows

as if I’m stretching the walls myself.

Oh boy!

But not until I realize that once again

I am alone.

It’s not fair!

My tics have their tocs

and time can’t tell a story.

It just starts or ends one

and with every episode

I wish there was a guest star for once;

I don’t wish to be the main character.

I want a knight in shining armor.

ey would run the tip of their finger from the tip

of my nose to the mids of my brows.

For when I can’t hear the ticking

all I ask for is to feel it.