Murder, but make it Manka

What is a body but a place to hide your secrets? If I could rip them from the inside of my skin I would.  A tangle of veins and regrets. Dripping blood and tears All over your freshly cleaned kitchen tile  That still smells like lemons over the scent of decay And all the skeletons in the closet. 

I can’t call my mom - she is panic and red lights.  Dad died calling for the daughter I’ll never have.  I’m getting bad again. Going mad again.  I want short dresses and hard drugs and pretty boys.  Things that mean nothing but leave bruises behind. 

My body is a tomb of hopes and dreams.  My body is in a rush to die, to rip itself to shreds To scream at the world that you can’t break me I’m already broken like old dolls and chipped mugs.  I am here to devour your love and starve for more. 

There are so many regrets in the backseat of this car whose time I rent by the minute while I sit in a body I rent by the year. I am outrunning the inevitable clock, screaming that I'll shatter before I let the world shatter me.

I am sick of fighting battles I always lose with the girl in the mirror. I want to erase her so thoroughly she'll never be found again.

Maybe I'll lose her tonight in the crowd.

On broken shards of bitter memories

That I wanted to give you

But you didn't want them

It's okay.

I didn't choose to shatter either

But I was built to break

I have wanted and waited in the cold for rides that never came.  I have weighed my denials carefully, like bombs and fuses, counting them like the cost of war. 

I am never the first option or the best choice, an awareness that haunts me in every whispered conversation. Isolation isn’t safety, it is death, and the world is beyond my reach more now than it’s ever been. 

Maybe there’s a world where my calls are always answered and I’m not longer afraid of the click on the other end of the line. One where my breath comes easy and the world carries me with it.