At what point did my life become a means to an end?
Have I ever been here for the majority of my life?
I have pursued but at the same time, I have felt like a person who was being pursued.
Chased down by life itself.
Running as if everything would crumble in on itself if I were not on high alert at every given moment.
There are invisible chains on my body, weighing me down reminding me why I can never truly be at peace.
At what point will I realize that the chains holding me down have always been nonexistent?
The weight will disappear once I feel my life is not a means to an end but a life to be lived and enjoyed.
In my heavy chest, there will one day be freedom.

Why has my life always felt like nails on chalkboard?
The insistent grating sound, thrumming throughout my being.
I can taste it sometimes, it's always so putrid and dry.
The nails have been ***** and chipped for so long.
How are they still ever so piercing?

What is the vice that seems to take hold in my chest every time I remember?
Maybe the vice is the weight of all the relationships I failed in.
All the moments I wish I could relive and take control of.
The sensation of emotions that wash over me every time I experience a flashback weighs so heavily on me.
All of a sudden I feel like I am crying and screaming even though I have an impassive expression and dry cheeks.
Grief attempts to claw up my throat, causing my throat to feel agonizingly raw.
All I can do is sit as stoically as I can while my mind pivots and my body becomes numb yet tender with the accompanying urge to escape.
The sounds of rustling papers alert me.
"Have you ever thought about harming yourself or others?"
An impassive expression.
She has done this over and over again, it is but an invasive formality to her.
I am brought back to reality and paste on a serene face.
The grief stays, hanging on to the thread that is my uvula.
"Never."

What is a home?
The definition relates to permanency.
A place where you will always return.
Home was a person to me.
A person I could always return to.
I used to come home to her.
A shelter, a place where I could take haven from this cruel world, all in one person.
At one point my haven started to mold.
The damage I did not see before started to unveil before my eyes, once I saw the mold.
I stopped feeling safe.
I could no longer stand at peace.
Coming home slowly stopped being an option.
One day I decided to face my home one last time, and I returned to a fire.
Everything was set ablaze no longer salvageable.
Every memory passed through my mind and all I could do was walk away.
I walked away from my ruined home.

A necklace.
I would face my emotions for her once I gave her the necklace.
It would be a promise.
For once I would be honest.
My heart would be laid out for her taking.
I held the necklace in my hands, heart alight.
Staring into her gentle eyes I was faced with my own reflection.
I felt a pause within myself.
How could I ever do such a thing?
Her eyes were so clear how could I ever begin to face such a pure person?
The necklace was like an anchor in my hands.
Cement was in my body.
Honesty was forgotten once again.
The necklace would never be picked up again.
The necklace was forgotten, and thrown aside.

There was a sudden downpour.
My body held onto the raindrops that caressed my clothes and skin.
A fondness fills my heart.
I wanted to sway with the rain that would comfort me on long nights.
I looked to the girl who held my heart, wanting to share this happiness.
She was running from the rain.
The raindrops clung to her stubbornly as she shielded herself.
For a moment I was reminded of myself.
I was a stubborn raindrop hanging on uselessly.
To be brushed away at one point.
To dance in the rain with her was just a dream of mine.
As I watched her run away I knew I would have to let her go soon.

I stare at the ceiling.
As I have been for the past four hours.
A mute existence.
I have been silent all this time.
I have allowed myself to wither for hours on end.
I feel as though I forgot myself.
I have no name, no identity.
I am simply a traveler, allowing the time to pass.