When I sit
I feel the stone
It is worn smooth
From years of emotional erosion
The dust grated away bit by bit
There was that time that I said to you that
I had a crush on you and you said no
So I tried to be friends but every time you
Walked past and your night-black hair caught the light
I could feel the weight lift from my chest cavity and then resettle, heavier than before
Or when I wrote down a story that I was proud of
But when I read it, the laughter in your eyes told me that I was worthless
The stone settled further, nestling itself right between my lungs, forcing them further apart and making every breath a strain
So when I create or love or speak or try to be something more than I am,
It is there
My arteries have grown around it
Vines tracing the cracks
My organs rub against it
Friction points in my blood
It has become a piece of my architecture
A monument to shame in the map of my body
When I am dead
My flesh rotted away
In the center of my rib cage
There will sit a stone
Poetry Overdose 