I’m walking around in circles
with my literal heart in my hands
it’s all blood and gore, it’s still
barely beating, it’s painful
in a delicate kind of way.
I’m up at 4:30 every morning
cause you’re knocking on the walls,
sending me babies in my sleep,
the kind that cry and curl into the bend
of your arm, the same place
you stick a needle- I know
what you’re doing, giving me life
in my sleep to cover up all the death. I repeat
the last thing I say each time someone leaves
a room in case I never see them
again. Thank you, thank you,
thank you, talk to you later. I hold
my breath before answering every call
and whisper something just
short of desperation to a god
I don’t believe in. Please,
please, please, not again. Hope
is a word I no longer own, hope
tastes disgusting and bitter and makes
me want to spit, so I cough all day
and clear my throat until it’s sore
but somehow, I’m still choking.
I use medical terms I don’t know
the meaning of and laugh
when I say “I need help” though I really
need help. I think about other things
when people talk to me – talk at me
like I’m watching it all happen
from some foreign planet. I am different,
now and I tell myself this
two times, three times a day, but
myself wants so badly to be the same.
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
2087
amandla
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
turnnoffyourmind
