it's silent
and dark
and then the feeling of someone forcing air down your nose
forcing air down your throat and burning
forcing light back into your eyes and you hate this
****
there's a reason you did this
there always is
you swallowed those pills for a reason
jumped off that building for a ******* reason
and now
well
you pitched yourself into the churning water
because you ******* wanted to die
and the only reason you're conscious
is because they - whoever they are -
do not seem to understand
that the world is better off without you

you suppose you'll have to try it again

the feeling of an empty and churning stomach
- empty because you don't want to eat, don't deserve to -
- churning because you took too many pills and you are gagging and bent over the bathtub -
but that comes later
for now
you are leaning against the bathroom wall
cold on your cheek and it seems to stop the world from spinning
it's the only thing that stops the world from spinning
so you hold on

the light is on in the distance
writhing under your unsteady gaze and existing in another place
everything is a blur of porcelain and blue skies
rolling and twisting and
the sound of a knock on the door
that upsets your existence to the very core
you ignore it
and dread another

songs on the radio that you can't stand
that make you switch stations and then cringe
when you realize that it's on every channel

you start the car but you don't drive anywhere
just sit in the darkness, listening to the low rumble of the engine and
shrink under the sick drowsiness that permeates your every memory

you can't move
but you're okay with that

it's you
laying on the twin bed
arms folded over your stomach
humming along to music turned on in the background that i can't hear

it's you
in the car
driving slowly, arm splayed out the window
talking quietly, but i'm too focused on the moment and i miss the words you say

it's you
staring at the mirror
and hating what you see, glaring at your reflection
like there's something inside that repulses you and i can't help but wonder what you're muttering at the glass

it's you
inside the mirror this time
and i can't reach you
and i don't know why,
i can't hear you,
can barely see you

it's you
not that i can tell but i can
i mean
it's not me anymore that's for certain
that much i know - that's the only thing i know
it's me, on the ground, body crumpling onto the pavement in a circle of blood
splayed awkwardly and pale and lifeless

it's me this time

where do i get off
everything is moving
and i can't seem to get my head on straight
the grey sky above me
melting into the glass buildings
steel spikes growing out of the bone-dry earth
in your world
it's whiteboards covered in scrawling green text
in your world
it's not what you'd thought
the air around you so tangible that it chokes you
closes your throat and eyes against the pain
in your world
you can see the people
like insects
crawling the streets from the view from your apartment window on the 80th floor
in your world
the glass doesn't warp against the night sky freckled with bright lights and falling bodies
in your world
it's not the nausea that tears against your consciousness
it's more the darkness
it's not the desperation
it's the calm
beating it's head against your bathroom wall and saying over and over
over and over
over and over

in your world
it's the cigarettes at three in the morning
and after that
at midnight

you stare at the clock for six hours straight
but the seconds don't stop

the microwave beeps all night long as you stare at the blank TV screen
but the seconds don't stop

the subway is dark and cramped
fluorescent lights dim under the thick smog that shouldn't be here
your legs lock up
sudden
and then nothing
then only nothing
you don't come back until you're at the hospital
eyes bleary against the white light and yellow walls
as they press an oxygen mask against you
you can't help but wonder how you got here
here in the antiseptic dreams of cancer patients while you stare at the cracks in the ceiling
it's not that you can't dream
it's just that you don't
here against the black lights with pulsing music
here against the knife fights in dark alleys
you dislocate ******* and enjoy the pain
you chain-smoke Marlboro's for an hour and a half
and by the time you've finished two packs your head is spinning and you can't think
you scribble on a piece of paper until you can't move your arms and the ink bleeds through onto the kitchen table
you can't breathe for three days and when you can again
the doctors tell you that there's something wrong
you shut your eyes and you forget how to open them
i.v.'s appear in your wrist after two days and you keep taking them out
at your funeral, you can't hear the songs they play
because you can't breathe inside that wooden box
you can see the stars flickering above you but your eyes are shut
you stop being able to remember the third grade
suddenly nothing
and then only nothing

the boy in the laundrymat wearing ***** pajamas has a split lip and two dark circles under his eyes
you try not to look at him as he fumbles coins into old machines and trips over his own untied shoelaces

the man ahead of you in the supermarket checkout line
pauses briefly in the unloading of his grocery cart
to leer at the cashier, a young twenty-something with green eyes and a bruised cheekbone
you pretend not to notice the quiver in his hands as he scans item after item,
wincing at each beep and trying to look smaller,
trying to shrink into his own skin

the teenager in the subway is standing weird and you notice that he is attempting not to cry
the tears come anyways, and as he makes small choking noises,
you look away and stare out the scratched windows,
tunnel walls scrolling listlessly past as the boy wipes his face with a ripped sleeve

the sounds coming from the alleyway leave nothing to the imagination
you keep walking, even as an older man emerges from the dark, zipping his pants
you ignore the hushed sobbing, and as you crawl into bed that night
you can still hear noises that make you gag

you try to tell yourself that you did nothing wrong
but you don't succeed

there is someone on the other side of that camera
watching you
and if they can read your body language
(bottom lip in mouth, hands ******* an oversized shirt)
then they can also read everything else
(hair twisted and knotted around itself, tie hanging haphazardly off your neck as you clutch at the pack of cigarettes in your pocket)

you have a hard time hiding these things

it's not that you hadn't enjoyed it, per say
trading ******* in the men's bathroom
back pressed flush against the grimy stall
it's just that you had somehow imagined *** with the man you loved
to be a little more...
glamorous

at night, with the light off, lying next to a warm body
hands that are trying to get into your boxers
you don't push him away
because even though you want to
he's your lover
and you feel like you're supposed to let him
so you do
and when you go to work the next day,
neck and collarbones lined with bruises,
you try to tell yourself
that you enjoyed it

you fail at that

when your co-workers ask you what's wrong
you shrug them off, and tell yourself that you should be blushing
when they congratulate you on finally getting some

it's not that you don't like it, you tell yourself
as you **** him off in the shower at 7 in the morning
it's just that you're too tired to appreciate what's going on

you don't notice the pitying looks until it's 9 in the morning and you're halfway done with your third cup of gas station coffee
you barely even notice it then

so you're dragging your feet across the pavement, eyes mostly shut, carrying a briefcase in your left hand and a scalding cup of caffeine powder + water in your right
it's not that you're tired
you manage to get a good four hours most nights
it's that you cannot focus
everything around you is more than a little blurry
red edges on your vision and shadows somehow pixelated

you're stumbling across the street when you realize that somewhere along the way
you managed to finish that third cup
and your hand is uselessly gripping empty air
it falls to your side
and it takes a few steadying breaths to deal with the headrush that always accompanies such a revelation

you have an agreement
but you don't know who with
it's someone you met years ago
in a hospital
eyes bright and idealistic

you don't remember the agreement either
but it was something important
and you remember that

that's what matters, isn't it?

so you're walking down the cracked paved road
lips numb and huffs of breath escaping through your nose
your hands are in the pockets of a large yellow hoodie with bloodstains down the sides, clutching at a crumpled ten dollar bill and shaking

so you're walking down a road
but you don't know where you're going
the feeling of not here so abstract
that you can't help but laugh at yourself for thinking that this would actually work

you know how other people see you
a small boy with a baggy sweatshirt and a mouth that tastes like coffee and cigarettes
it seems, recently, that everyone knows exactly what you taste like,
mouths pressed to yours in an effort to make the minutes stop
so you let them
because you're running out of time
and you figure that you should take what you can get

but sometimes, you're noticed,
even the feeling of a body pressed to yours, blood singing in between the ***** sheets of cheap hotels
even the thrill of easy *** cannot diminish the feeling
of a crushing weight upon your tired shoulders

your world is ending
and you know this
and you're having a hard time carrying on

it's not as neat as you'd hoped it would be
not as clinical

when you left the hospital, they'd told you that it would be difficult

you hadn't believed them

but now, as you stand under the harsh spray of the shower
under water that's been cold for an hour now
you believe them

you'd felt like you'd been choking
air thick with steam and
some form of unhappiness that just won't go away
so you were choking
but you wouldn't leave
eyes shut tight against what you hoped wasn't there
leaning against the white tiles lining the wall
barely breathing
but now
as the ice-cold water hits your face and chest
you're not breathing at all

it's too painful, you'd told them
but they hadn't listened

the crushing weight of this anxiety
that you can't get rid of
keeps you from turning off the shower and stepping out

it ends with you shivering against the floor
rigid from the cold
but at least you can't think anymore
at least you can't think

so it's not that you can't think
you can
it's just that you can't think clearly about anything that matters

it's cold, all the time
you notice this
the numb hands and the
constant shivering

so it doesn't get any better
because you're just as scared
and it still hurts
but you keep hoping
'cause they said
they *promised

The lights in the auditorium don't turn off
you know this because you can see them in your head
constantly
flickering slightly and keeping you awake

bright lights that blind you
make you sick and create the hopeless feeling that just doesn't go away
that settles over you and
crushes your lungs

it could be years
but you don't know
all you can see is the bright lights of the auditorium
as the blood drips down your face and onto your shirt

as the blood seeps into your clothing, plastering itself to your skin
as the heartbeat in your ears slowly turns into the only thing you can hear
as your eyes glaze over and you fall to the linoleum floor
unable to breathe

so it's not that you're dying
i mean,
you are
you are, but you're already dead

the lights in the auditorium are blinding you
and you can't move
and you can't speak
and sooner or later, the whole world turns down

turns down the sound from the outside
and the lights that seeped into your eyes
past useless eyelids
so that's it