Dwelling is a razor
regret, drip-fed poison
guilt, a creaking chain as it tightens around my neck.
Stockholm syndrome has me
in that
lovelifedeath
grip.
And as my own jailer
I rail against myself
Caught in a purgatory-
safe
drawing blood
then consoling.
I can't see........
My corneas tear in the wind
there's some metaphysical connection, I know it
I don't want to look at my life as it is
The guilt twists my guts
I'm pathetic in my failures
and grasping at a fading light.
Ah perfectionism, my abusive lover;
you endow me such power, then beat me senseless
I'm goddess, then mortal-
panicking
frail
with nowhere but elusive horizons to go.
Phosphenes
those bright spots of colour
as I rub my eyes-
Once again I wake too early
and that too-familiar cyanide starts to leak through my veins
and anxiety grips me
How'll I ever get it right
make it out
fix it all
come out from under
breathesucceedrelaxenjoybeworthsomething
in short
has my bright patch of colour had its day?
I can't
face it.