I carry a storm,
In the pocket of my shirt.
A restless demon,
Clawing.
Ripping.
Shredding.
My body apart,
From the inside out.
Shattering bones,
Through every breath.
The taste of blood,
Of acid,
Is all I know.
Thunder in my mind,
And voices,
Is all that bombards,
My brain.
My hallucinations.
Develop,
I was told I'm faking,
But I'm not fine.
The demos echo,
They yell,
In that shrill voice,
I know all too well.
These echos send,
Alarms like a bell.
My heart is shattered glass,
Like a mirror,
Laying on the floor.
Cutting deeper,
With each bolt,
That sends waves into my body.
I wear this weight.
Like a second skin.
That’s underneath,
Hiding what’s within.
I struggle—I fight everyday.
What you don’t see,
Is what goes on,
Day to day.
The vomiting.
The pain.
The nausea.
The shame.
The anemia.
The dizziness.
The fighting for life,
It’s a lot of chores.
To stay alive— is a battle,
My body forces me to ride,
Like a roller coaster.
This fight in my pocket,
Is a storm brewing out of control
Who knows?
When my body,
Will hit a pole.
This storm,
Is making me lose myself,
More.