i was soft,
subtle like the sand that slips between your fingers
slowly.

trauma; past,
present.

we sleep between slurred lines
and codeine highs.

soft. subtle.

oh my,
what a lovely grave.

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love & xenophobia

it was noon,
in the middle of the night.

two dead lovers rose from slumber,
stood back to back,
and drew swords –
pointed,

gunshot fires.

a mile away, a deaf policeman
hears the shot ring out.

and now there stood
two-twice dead lovers,
as witness to testify the
fractured boundaries of love.

i swear, my oath,
the blind man saw it too

empty again. alone. glass, that shatters and spills it’s contents over warm pavement. i cut myself on their jagged edges; envious that nobody ever expects them to fix themselves.

a hollowness that is bone dry. 

the abandoned child builds it’s nest in unstable trees. the wind’s caress leaves empty carcasses. and she falls, and he flees.

for these broken eggs fell into your basket; carefully placed. never enough. 

never enough. never enough. never enough.

 

*trigger warning: depression, mental health and suicidal experience *

i say this feeling is temporary.

that is what i’ve been telling myself.
but it’s more than that now.

a dull ache,
undeniably,
the hole in my chest
bleeds darker,

darker,
than these
dark thoughts.

haunted;
hanging nooses
as necklaces

i’d have help
but hopelessly
helpless.

scream:
save me
but insatiable
suffering is
my security;
sanity.

simply insane.

i’m sorry.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

afterword:

this is a personal piece i wrote when experiencing a severe depressive episode.

i am not sharing my experience with you for your love, sympathy or pity.
i am not sharing my experience with you for attention-seeking purposes.

i am sharing this because it’s real.
it’s what i’ve lived with for as long as i can remember.
it’s what millions of people will live with for as long as they’ll remember.

and yet

mental health has a tendency to be negatively received, and often, disregarded, by our society.

no. this is real. these are our lives.
spread awareness. spread love.
not the stigma that there is something wrong with someone for feeling this way.

to those of you who are reading this, and are silently suffering (mentally, physically, emotionally),

i understand you.

i see you.

i accept you.

grief:

i have spent an unfortunate amount of time grieving. 

loss

it’s what i fear the most in the world; losing the people i give myself to.

they all leave until there’s nothing left;

until i am nothing, 

until i disappear.

loss doesn’t make you stronger,

it makes you scared. 

scared, because how many fractures does it take to shatter the whole?

scared, because today is a day and tomorrow is never certain.

scared, because when i lose them, i lose myself

and i barely had enough of that to begin with.