The Hours (inspired by Virginia Woolf)

By Megan C Lucas

The flowers she said she would get herself
lay suffocating on the floor
Clarissa was quiet and kept to herself
Leonard was never a listener
As the children grew absent
the silence grew loud
Clarissa and Leonard lived through it
She said she would get the flowers herself
maybe he should have just let her do it.

Now Clarissa lay wet on the floor with the flowers
and Leonard just counts the hours.

Your Coward Side by Megan C Lucas


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The dark lays heavy on my pillow on nights when we get drunk enough to speak about the things that keep us up at night when we are sober

So on nights when I am drunk I lie awake like nights when I am sober and choke on all the things you said and instead of regret, will claim to forget

Morning comes with a vengeance and a headache that numbs the heart and a heartache that pains the soul enough to keep the mouth at bay
So many things were said yet so much was left unsaid and we are right back to being in the dark
and it’s heavy on my pillow

Another drunken night at confession leads us to a hanging morning sick with anticipation that you might remember like I always do
You remember nothing and it convinces me that you are nothing but a hopeless drunk and truth-less sober and painful heart times over

Only cowards profess their inner thoughts drunk and afraid to face their consequence
You were a coward to make me fall for you with no intention to follow through
So I’m a coward for my memory must also fail me on mornings when I remember
To protect my frail dignity and your weak pride to remain a well-kept secret by your coward side

Addicted to Death


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(Melissa’s Story)

My father was an alcoholic and he died 15 years sober so don’t tell me that death at the hand of an addiction is inevitable. Don’t stand there and preach to the world that drugs and alcohol and depression are the gateways to death, breathing is the gateway to death. Some of us just happen to be in so much pain that anything that will numb our existence is something we need. Don’t stand there and judge me like you’ve never found yourself crying in the middle of a cold shower for something that felt at the time like it would never go away, like you would never be okay. We have all played with the idea of death because as much as time heals all wounds, the pain is all too consuming to grasp the concept of breathing let alone of time. You keep throwing cliche’s at me like you know what I’m experiencing. “Come on child, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I’m not sorry to disappoint you, what didn’t kill me in the past has failed to make me strong. I am fragile and weak from this system that sounds so perfect in theory but in practice has failed every single one of us. As easy as you think it is to forgive transgressions and to forget painful pasts, it eats at you daily because ‘what if’s’ are far greater and more powerful than ‘what have been’s’. Just because my problem seems small from where you’re standing does not mean it doesn’t have the ability to consume me, to drown me, to swallow me whole and you have no right to tell me how to fix it. Sit down. If you’re that interested in my issues and my selfish desires to eliminate them with a quick and cowardice solution then let’s talk because no amount of you standing over there and yelling at me to get off of the ledge, to put the blade down, to step off of the chair, is going to turn my addiction to depression into vapour. When someone is annoyed, everything is annoying. The same goes for sadness.

My name is irrelevant and I am addicted to sadness.



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