evicted

evicted from a home I don’t call home. from hands I wish would hold me, from hearts I wish wouldn’t break me. my belongings scattered on the sidewalk. they fling my clothes, my sanity, and my hope outside. the lavish luxury that comes with asking someone where they’re at, telling someone to pick you up in 10. these hands aren’t invisible. these hands fling insults while I pour drinks in their cups. they laugh at my futile attempts to be the one that they want, not need. im watching them drink their drinks in silence. pour my suffering down their throats and call it wine, best drink they’ve ever had. they down me in one gulp, and ask for more. so I give them more. and more. and more. I ask her when i’ll stop pouring. im in the mirror again, why won’t I stop pouring? this time I trace faint lines on my face. im withering away. they’ve drunk me dry. ask me how my day has gone then ask me why i’m telling you. tell me to have a goodnight and ruin it while you’re at it. they’re drinking me dry. when does she stop pouring?