my skin is getting cluttered.
I am afraid to open my eyes because i worry that i will find my abdominal cavity is nothing but exposed nerves and muscle tissue. i am consumed with this; fear, dependency, hopelessness. what do you do when you know she deserves better? laugh. because i know i deserve better too.
i'll be fine. i'll look you in the eye and tell you all about the word "alone." you will hold on, as though you could lose me inside the words, and you'll kiss each rib and fingertip, you'll trace each angle, each bone, and our voices will sound so small in this empty room. you'll cry when i tell you about the sound of a bone breaking and the beauty in red blood on white tile and you'll cry when i pause long enough for you to remember things like swollen eyes and my hands covering the bruises and how impossible it is to breathe sometimes. and i will lie perfectly still beside you, i will measure each inhale and exhale. i will tell you that i can imagine neither continuing to live nor dying and somehow you will find comfort in that. you'll be thankful that it didn't work and thankful that i am still here. and this is where we are stuck.
sometimes all i am is beside you; anywhere else, i am a ghost that wanders through city streets and classrooms and workplaces. i am a body with half a bottle's worth of pills down my throat, veins full of heroin, lungs filled with smoke. and i can talk all night long about everything you ask, i can tell you about the poison i've put in my bloodstream, about the hands that held me as a child and then later made me bleed. i can tell you about the weight of all of this sadness but it is nothing you will ever be able to carry, you will always be able to go home, the ache you feel will always be for someone else's pain.
i will be okay. i will tell you what you want to know and you will run your fingers along each scar and fall asleep with your head on my chest and one hand tangled in my hair. i will wake up before you, my face stiff with tears. my entire life spread, a melancholy tablecloth, over your palms. i will wake up crying; no affliction, just that you are so beautiful. you and your intrinsic beauty, i love you.
i had intended to be braver by now, swearing as a child that i would unsheathe my sword towards anything that threatened life's precarious equilibrium. but i find myself feeling as though i have turned all of the locks, pressed my back against the door and pushed my forehead against my knees, giving in beneath all this heavy armor. each motion self-deprecating, my smiles weak and unconvincing, my apparent exhaustion an impermeable barrier between myself and respectable interaction. each night i realize upon entering an empty, quiet house that i have been holding my breath all day, anxiety swollen inside of my ribcage. i leave each morning thinking about my next chance to be alone.
i'll be fine. i'll look you in the eye and tell you all about the word "alone." you will hold on, as though you could lose me inside the words, and you'll kiss each rib and fingertip, you'll trace each angle, each bone, and our voices will sound so small in this empty room. you'll cry when i tell you about the sound of a bone breaking and the beauty in red blood on white tile and you'll cry when i pause long enough for you to remember things like swollen eyes and my hands covering the bruises and how impossible it is to breathe sometimes. and i will lie perfectly still beside you, i will measure each inhale and exhale. i will tell you that i can imagine neither continuing to live nor dying and somehow you will find comfort in that. you'll be thankful that it didn't work and thankful that i am still here. and this is where we are stuck.
sometimes all i am is beside you; anywhere else, i am a ghost that wanders through city streets and classrooms and workplaces. i am a body with half a bottle's worth of pills down my throat, veins full of heroin, lungs filled with smoke. and i can talk all night long about everything you ask, i can tell you about the poison i've put in my bloodstream, about the hands that held me as a child and then later made me bleed. i can tell you about the weight of all of this sadness but it is nothing you will ever be able to carry, you will always be able to go home, the ache you feel will always be for someone else's pain.
i will be okay. i will tell you what you want to know and you will run your fingers along each scar and fall asleep with your head on my chest and one hand tangled in my hair. i will wake up before you, my face stiff with tears. my entire life spread, a melancholy tablecloth, over your palms. i will wake up crying; no affliction, just that you are so beautiful. you and your intrinsic beauty, i love you.
i had intended to be braver by now, swearing as a child that i would unsheathe my sword towards anything that threatened life's precarious equilibrium. but i find myself feeling as though i have turned all of the locks, pressed my back against the door and pushed my forehead against my knees, giving in beneath all this heavy armor. each motion self-deprecating, my smiles weak and unconvincing, my apparent exhaustion an impermeable barrier between myself and respectable interaction. each night i realize upon entering an empty, quiet house that i have been holding my breath all day, anxiety swollen inside of my ribcage. i leave each morning thinking about my next chance to be alone.