-- my heart weeps while i sleep.
the picture frames in my mind, a hallway with chipped tile floors
and faded walls.
the hollowed-out grooves of the floor, indents left by repeated steps of feet;
walking past the same memories, over and over again.
reminiscing all that could have been, all that was never meant to be.
a timeline of possibilities, going both directions-- yet, stagnant
in the spectrum of it all.
who could i have been, and what would i be,
had it not been for this body to ruin it all?
this mind that plagues a sickness wherever it goes, everywhere it touches.
the hallway remains the same, unchanged. newer picture frames lined up
against aging memories, details blurred between the lines of irrational thought
and touching reality.
-- i feel myself fall apart, and come right back together again.
an implosion, as my body falls outward and my mind collapses inward.
it rips a hole through my chest, heavy and aching. growing, unrelenting and
violent. the pain comes in waves. it feels as though i have an ocean inside of me,
my body the battleground for their storm.
akin to the idea of drowning -- with each breath it becomes harder to move, and
each time i move it becomes harder to breathe.
the noise is all too much to process; the gasping from my lungs is hard to hear
over the sound of blood rushing through my ears, difficult to make sense of the world
as it comes down around me.
i claw desperately at my chest, to calm the storm raging inside me -- both hands pushing,
pulling at my chest, attempting to prevent myself from falling apart any further. to keep
myself together, before i'm ravaged entirely by this war.
it's soon to pass, but each second feels like an eternity when every action debilitates me
further than the last. the sudden movement not only aches, but burns. the thoughts that
follow not only hurts, but only further ignites the fire underneath my skin.
and by the end of it all, only wreckage remains. the calm after the calamity -- left to
pick up the pieces, and to find the ones that were carried away by the storm.
some are never found.
it only continues, a natural disaster beneath the skin. until the next tide pulls me in
once more, never to be seen again.
-- why do i have to go through so much heartache?
am i just diseased? am i just so much of a monster that everybody
turns away from me the minute they try to know me?
i chase the feeling of being understood so desperately yet i know
it will never come close. i feel like a burden to everybody and i want to
shut myself away from the world, to avoid everybody so i will no longer be hurt
by the false hope and expectations ... i must be at fault.
i must be the problem. seemingly, i am always the problem, and although it hurts,
i feel as though it's the truth.
i want to disappear, fade, be forgotten. a lost memory
in the box of some obscure backroom.
i can't stand the idea of myself anymore.
if i were them, i'd leave me, too.
loneliness and abandonment .. it is all i've ever known.
this world was built for me to suffer.
to ache and burn-- i feel as though sometimes i was put on this earth
to shoulder the pain that the rest of the world cannot hold.
-- these feelings never go away.
my chest aches as if someone has reached through my body
and pulled out my heart, a dull empty feeling right in the center.
my eyes are tired no matter how much sleep i get,
lifeless and terribly hyper-aware of all the things around me.
my skin is pale and grey, as if i belong in the morgue.
my body is in the early stages of dying despite still breathing.
my mind is a jumbled mess. an encylopedia of thoughts and words that
seem to never be coherent enough to explain how i feel, a book
written in a dead language that cannot be translated even with the oldest of runes.
-- i'm puking up my emotions in the hopes that my stomach acid
dissolves parts of them, the ones that make my body heat up and spark
and fizzle like a bottle rocket.
i look over the remnants of the mirror i broke, because
my own reflection was too much for me to handle; searching
for pieces to put back together, and finding none.
i look over the blades used to mark my skin, bloody and unforgiving
taunting me with a dull shine; blood lackluster on the hardwood floor.
and if i ever come back down,
just know i'll never be the same.
-- why do i have to go through so much heartache?
am i just diseased? am i just so much of a monster that everybody
turns away from me the minute they try to know me?
i chase the feeling of being understood so desperately yet i know
it will never come close. i feel like a burden to everybody and i want to
shut myself away from the world, to avoid everybody so i will no longer be hurt
by the false hope and expectations ... i must be at fault.
i must be the problem. seemingly, i am always the problem, and although it hurts,
i feel as though it's the truth.
i want to disappear, fade, be forgotten. a lost memory
in the box of some obscure backroom.
i can't stand the idea of myself anymore.
if i were them, i'd leave me, too.
loneliness and abandonment .. it is all i've ever known.
this world was built for me to suffer.
to ache and burn-- i feel as though sometimes i was put on this earth
to shoulder the pain that the rest of the world cannot hold.
-- how could you love a ghost?
can you really see me, or is it the idea of me that draws you to me?
these eyes have no life behind them,
how could you pour love into an insatiable being?
do you think you can save me?
if love was a cure for suicide, i know that i would be dead either way.
-- i just feel so lost.
my body stays here while my soul desperately wishes to explore, to find meanings
behind the stars and all of it's light.
there are chains attaching me to this world that i can't seem to free myself from,
and the rattling of the metal echos through this empty space.
i do not belong here, that much i know.
if this life was meant for me it would not be so utterly unbearable,
it would not leave me struggling to breathe at night through the blur of my own
tears, and i would not feel so detached from the body that i own.