There are so many memories here I’m
choking
on the ground-up rubble of so many broken promises and the stench of
the few still rotting away in the corner;
I wish I was ancient, I wish I was
made of stone
so that I would break instead of bleeding
my chest crumble into a million tiny pieces instead of
dragging breaths through my lungs that make me feel like I’m drowning,
one minute fine, the next
full of black water and the remainder of what
could have been, or maybe things that never should have been.
I wish I could fly, I wish I was
paper-thin
instead of tied down by these weights around my ankles that
don't have enough substance to hold me in one place,
but just enough to
chafe my skin, just enough
to make everything heavy.
I wish I was perfect, I wish I was
carved into the hills somewhere, as if my image might
live forever in someone’s artistry, rather than
changing constantly
rather than
reminding me of all the
shells of people I’ve forgotten, people
I’m not anymore.
There are so many memories here, it’s
suffocating
but maybe I’ll install a high quality filter that
catches all the debris for me,
maybe I’ll
grow my skin so calloused I don’t bleed anymore,
maybe I’ll
cut the weights off my ankles, or
cut my legs along with them
just so I’m light enough to drift away,
drift away and never come back
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
There are so many memories here I’m
choking
on the ground-up rubble of so many broken promises and the stench of
the few still rotting away in the corner;
I wish I was ancient, I wish I was
made of stone
so that I would break instead of bleeding
my chest crumble into a million tiny pieces instead of
dragging breaths through my lungs that make me feel like I’m drowning,
one minute fine, the next
full of black water and the remainder of what
could have been, or maybe things that never should have been.
I wish I could fly, I wish I was
paper-thin
instead of tied down by these weights around my ankles that
don't have enough substance to hold me in one place,
but just enough to
chafe my skin, just enough
to make everything heavy.
I wish I was perfect, I wish I was
carved into the hills somewhere, as if my image might
live forever in someone’s artistry, rather than
changing constantly
rather than
reminding me of all the
shells of people I’ve forgotten, people
I’m not anymore.
There are so many memories here, it’s
suffocating
but maybe I’ll install a high quality filter that
catches all the debris for me,
maybe I’ll
grow my skin so calloused I don’t bleed anymore,
maybe I’ll
cut the weights off my ankles, or
cut my legs along with them
just so I’m light enough to drift away,
drift away and never come back