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Alex Kabat Jan 16
yesterday, they asked me how i’ve been

today, they wondered when i’d kneel at the feet of the devil again

and tomorrow,

they will tear through the scars
and discover answers
that have been kept hidden for far too long.
keep them at bay
Alex Kabat Jan 16
i am asking for too much
extracting blades like sweet honey from a bee
falling headfirst into arms that cannot hold me
treat me like a ******* liability

remember how it felt
shattered too many mirrors
stepped out of my skin
naked as i have ever been

the woman
hasn’t forgiven me

or i haven’t begun to forgive myself; i am not clear which.
forgive that girl in the mirror more and more each day.
Alex Kabat Dec 2020
when i am ten years old, my Google Search bar reads: “how to never throw up ever again in your entire life” because I am terrified.

i pray every night to a god that i do not even believe exists, because the fine line between desperation and despair bleeds viscous black ink into my bloodstream.

google also reminds me blood is supposed to be red. i spend hours on the bathroom floor sobbing, because the veins that peek out from my bare wrists are blue.
Alex Kabat Dec 2020
i am asking for too much
extracting blades like sweet honey from a bee
falling headfirst into arms that cannot hold me
treat me like a ******* liability

remember how it felt
shattered too many mirrors
stepped out of my skin
naked as i have ever been

the woman
hasn’t forgiven me

or i haven’t begun to forgive myself; i am not clear which.
the most crucial peace in pieces
Alex Kabat Dec 2020
i crack open
like some kind of piñata,
crumbling on the floor
leaking hurt,
dependance;
the desire for her to be
someone she cannot.

dressing myself in streamers
yet naked to the core

a sickly sweet ache
drips down my esophagus
coating my throat until there is no room
for forgiveness;
of her,
but also myself.

the saddest shade of irony:
demolished by the same hands
that once promised healing

this pity party is over.
Alex Kabat Dec 2020
rest in pieces
to the red ant
that just lost its life beneath
my white Air Forces

those who crawl towards me
always seem to fold
under the weight
of my soles --
Nikes, and a weak heart
that is proficient in the
art of manipulation

an empath that seems to
hurt more than heal,
a motherless child still
inhabiting the body
of a nineteen-year-old

a writer utilizing the distance of fiction
to erase the proximity of my past,
i mask pain beneath the guarding arms of a genre

another ant scurries across
the stone seat
and the sickest validation clouds my vision:
there’s many more where that came from
Alex Kabat Dec 2020
what becomes of the body?
as the soul drains
and the spirit trickles
fluid from the tip of an IV

they bloom by the day
lilac blotches
in a field of pale white skin

i kneel at her side,
materialize when summoned
no matter how badly my bones ache:
allegiance to an addict

countless cuts from broken glass
screaming match
and sirens’ haunting pass
lacerations without stitches are liabilities, too.

i do not recall the age i became an adult,
can’t recall childhood fantasies
so i ask --
what becomes of the mind?
bones can only take so many
beatings until they surrender

do you understand
that a man who feels small
will always be
no matter how many times
his knuckles bleed

i know the difference
between a flower and a bruise
although i am still learning
how to let an empty heart go
on giving too much of myself & never knowing where to draw the line

— The End —