Lexapro

Ghosts. You see us among the masses. Or you don’t. Some people say or claim this is an exaggeration, that our presence, our existence is not seen, unnoticeable. Yet, we’re out there, floating through life. Just disguised as people. People who don’t have a handle on life. Or rather it has too much of a handle on us.  Present one minute and vanishing the next. The only thing betraying this, a stray hairpin, a misplaced shoe, its mate laying abandoned in the dark recesses of the closet, no doubt, a tube of lipstick melted into the bottom of a handbag.  Faint handprints fading into the sheets, evaporating into the air.  Air. Wisps of succulent perfume, now stale and sickeningly sweet, lingering in the air, creating an outline, airy aspirations, bleeding out, disappearing.  Leaving nothing but sorrow in its place. Hollowed out shells, robotic formations created and controlled by an endless slew of plastic tops. White plastic tops, blaring like sirens, and inside nestled is salvation. Or at least enough to sustain us. Sustain us enough to breathe…Saving us from the catatonic state that plagues us or the endless stream of saline creating a puddle on our blouses. Assuming we have enough will to get dressed . Salvation for evening and salvation for day.   For the benefit of ourselves and them. Pulling us from the bed, hitting the ground running to the shower where we sit rocking because their crying won’t stop, their loving won’t slow down. The endless wants, endless needs, no way to ignore them. Pulling us apart, ripping us into two, no breaking, no slowing as it devours us whole. Mommy mommy mommy. It will never stop.