over a year
of waiting for the agony to takes its course
the pacing in my room at two in the morning
quick breaths toppling each other, never to catch up to my lungs
i never got the chance to unknot—
to replant my roots into someone new
or into different floorboards
yet i was too restless to flourish
into what i assumed was supposed to be my "awakening"
but see, my nerves were too messy and tangled
and i was impatient
so i let the wires undo themselves
or should i say waited—
because it never happened
so more and more nerves connected and collided
creating a construction of clumsiness and clustered words
isolation was becoming me
and i was becoming isolation.
from sitting in my room for far too long,
i have cuts on my hands and scars on my mind
too many anti-psychotics and psychedelics
soon enough, i was melting into my office chair
with sorrow sitting next to me, patting my back
leaving burn marks on my upper right shoulder—
they still ache time to time
and if i was really up there,
my heart would talk to me about the agony
and how it's always picking pieces from my ribs and throat
causing me to speak less and think more
but she did say that it was passing,
that i must be patient—
that was seven months ago.
a week after that talk,
i began traveling further passed that state
trying to talk to agony itself
i was so out of it
my bones weren't bones
and my feet were tingling,
but i had to keep traveling.
i was tired of waiting;
i couldn't keep up with the pacing
i was growing weak
and i just wanted a break
but, i never got to him,
and i never got that break.
and that's why i have bags under my eyes
because the sadness ran out of places to hide so
it hid under the deprivation—
agony was coming
but it was just passing through.