Your arms that hold me leave no comfort.
But the hands slotted around my neck,
They fit perfectly like a missing puzzle piece.
Once the puzzle is finished, it is meant to be forgotten.
And so I will be forgotten,
To this curse of a once promising life.

A painting of who I was
A sketch of who I am
To want to cherish the painting.
To want to start again
The need for destroying it.
The freedom of starting anew.
A lifetime of step forwards.
A life of looking back.

A question that has so many answers.
A question that may be too difficult to answer.
But the answer is always “yes.” or “no.”
Never that “maybe.” That’s only in your head.
You lie to others because you yourself aren’t sure.
Maybe that’s why the question is so hard to answer.

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The beating in my heart won’t stop.
I tell people it beats too fast. They don’t believe me.
This rhythm reminds me of my time.
Each thump a tick. A tick off my clock.
And sometimes. Sometimes that sickens me.
I want to dig my fingernails into my chest. To separate the atoms forming my skin. To split it apart
Reach deep within my chest and grab my beating heart. With my own two hands.
I will tell you the memories we had. The times I cried. The times I was scared. And the times you lacked to beat when I thought I met the person.
I will cry to my heart.
Why?
Why did you choose my lifeless body? I surely didn’t look that helpless.
Did I?
I will then scream.
I’m angry. I’m furious at you. Why weren’t you just there for me?
I was alone and you were the only one who was there.
So why?
I can feel my heart beating in my hands and it sickens me.
I want to throw up.
My hands grip my heart. I want to stop this beating, this ticking.
So I do.
I crush it. I crush you with my hands until the beating stops.
Until I am just a lifeless body once again.