My heart opens with a shriek.
She takes in everything
as if it belonged to her alone.
–
All that is left of my tears
is the salt on my cheeks.
I scrub my skin raw.
–
Deep down I know
that I am the moon
my face pale and wavering.
–
Too proud to ask for help
but not too proud
to declare myself deficient.
–
I can’t bare it you know
this devastating mediocrity
I’d rather be a ghost.
–
I look askance,
arms outstretched
how dare I ask
–
for a moment of your time
when you have paid so much
and I so little.
–
How could this feeling be false?
A mere ploy?
When I can see my life thinning.
–
Right before my eyes
everything that I have loved
presses forward
–
and I falling backwards
cannot hope to catch up
so I stand looking on quietly.
–
I hold in my hand
the greasy, black umbilicus
but it cannot be torn free.
–
I cannot rewrite the script
it is set into my very bones.
All that is left of me
–
is the knowing,
is the romanticization of this illness
which has become my identity.
–
My indemnity, my indignity
what a joke, what a fate
to be defiled by my very own mind.
–
I feel their eyes on me,
their theatrical hunger
and if I were to die
–
They’d say “What a pity!”
“What a waste!”
“She was too young!”
–
It’s not a fix, dying
I think this sin should follow me
beyond the grave.
–
For
Based on my teenage years which was a very dark period
mindlovemisery 