Alive

Make it stop. The rasping of my heart.

The uneven breathing that manages to escape.

I don’t like the dark.

As the rain slips from the roof, a soft pitter-patter.

I reach out my hand—emptiness, is that you?

Tell me something. Tell me something that could shake me.

Tell me something that makes me feel. Tell me something.

What am I but a speck of dust? What am I but a number?

What am I but another one to go? What am I but…

Oh, how long these questions go unanswered, untouched, unnerved—like me.

Pricked by thorns of a rose, I lay somber and lifeless.

Blood flows from my fingertips—I need another.

 

“Who are you?”

I am… I am… I am…

Hesitation is my epitome.

“_____”

A name—I can only offer so much. My platter is not enough for you.

Devour. Savor. Empty.

You look at me so gently.

Please don’t lie to me with those deep brown eyes.

Please don’t lie to me with your soft gaze.

Please don’t lie to me with your gentle smile.

Please don’t lie to me with your hands—the smooth surface that grazes

My tainted and rough skin.

You are too pure for me.

I am poison to your veins—I’ll infuse you with all the sins of the universe.

 

“Don’t walk away from me, please?”

Sugar-coated words. I hate it. I love it.

I don’t want it. I crave it—strike me.

“I can’t stay. Why do you keep trying?”

The ocean wants to slip from your eyes.

I might be as soulless as I make myself to be.

Beg me to stay. Beg me to live. Beg me to stop.

Beg Beg Beg Beg—I am selfish like that.

I play by the rules—my broken rules.

I preach. I profess.

Only to violate.

“Please, stay. Only this time.”

“Okay.”

Follow the rules.

 

“I love you.”

Don’t say that.

You are being compulsive—such words are meaningless.

“You don’t know what that means.”

Sharp like a knife, I cut through you.

I’m convoluted. I’m no good. I’m dirty.

I hurt.

You stare me down—the flames of Hades are ablaze.

Yes. Break my rules. Leave me.

Crack me like a mirror and leave the shards to crumble under your feet.

Bad luck.

“When will this act end?”

Act? Play? Theatrical? Drama? Intermission? Finale?

Maybe it is an act—an act of safety. A shield.

Entertaining, no?

I am acting for you—for me. But I won’t admit that.

 

“Let’s end this.”

Pitiful. Sad. Pathetic. Miserable.

My names—I gave them to myself every time I tell you so.

“No.”

I almost felt it—the stinging of my chest when you rejected my opposition.

I guess you don’t learn much. I’m no good, you know?

“I’m not worth it.”

Your eyes befallen on me. The burning intensity makes my knees buckle.

Oh, how only you could make me feel such a way.

How foreign.

“Worth isn’t what I’m looking for.”

 

Maybe, I’m living out of spite

 

“Love me like you mean it.”

I’m slipping through the cracks, I feel everything.

Such tenderness—so warm and gentle. It’s encompassing.

I don’t hesitate—sayonara, old friend.

 “What are you doing to me…”

How you change me. How you make me shiver.

How you make me whole. How you make me…me.

My thoughts are stuttering—you did this.

Though,

I don’t mind it—I like it.

“Nothing you couldn’t for yourself.”

I’m holding back. The chains that binds me to the abyss—Where my thoughts lay bare,

revealing all the things buried—are shattering.

Pools of chlorinated water poured like a waterfall—cleanse me.

My mistakes are becoming burned memories—faded, disintegrated.

 

You don’t have to die, to feel alive

 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741