Unjust Mourning

I’m haunted. Places feel less familiar. Locations I was so utterly fond of become a cemetery of memories. Dissociation was already an issue for me, tortured by various whispers, hallucinations made to offset my mental stability out of the corner of my eyes, in plain sight.

This is worse.

Feeling the phantom presence of betrayal, invoking primal fear. Everything goes blurry, messy, my eyes feel glossy yet granulated. I loved the beauty of this plant, Wisteria, and I was foolish enough to let them plant their seeds under my skin, in my veins, and among my heart. Their memories flood my eyes and mind, making my skin itch, blood boiling as I feel a great amount of discomfort and anger. A whirlwind of emotions I do not choose to confront, ones that I

brush off. I’m better, I’m getting better. I’m better off. I have to keep reminding myself. I’m safe.

So why is it I mourn?