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To: No Avail

A letter.

By Tommy BallardPublished 4 months ago Updated 4 months ago 1 min read

To No Avails,

I've tried to fill myself with everything else.

Yet echoes through my chest scream where should be bells.

To No Avails,

I've tried to find a family who through it all would end my isolation.

Yet in the end, it became just one more exercise that wrought deceits and devastation.

To No Avails,

I've tried to let the scars and scabs fade with the scrapes and bruises.

Yet they keep plucking at them, clipping the stitches and cutting the sutures, the ghosts of yesterday pull me away from the future.

To No Avails,

I've begged a thousand times to start from the beginning, to feel less trapped and have choices to pick between, something to get me out of this mental anguish and hell.

Yet I know myself, if I got those thousand more chances I'd make a thousand same choices, to no avail.


social commentarysurreal poetrysad poetryperformance poetry

About the Creator

Tommy Ballard

I'm a professional writer, a poet, a digital artist and an amateur musician. In my free time, I can often be found pondering magnets, breaking and entering random homes to steal locks of human hair and throwing car batteries into the ocean.

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