I refuse to believe in the mere thought
that I will wake up tomorrow feeling
like my body has survived one thousand
hits, one thousand bruises, because God knows
surviving first consists of living, and
He and I both know I've just barely lived.
We both know existing is the closest
I'll ever be to feel fully alive.

It's as if Satan came and took my soul
that was once wrapped in innocence and hope,
tore it apart, left it ****** and raw,
sprinkled salt on my bare and open wound,
sealed it with anger and euphoric pain,
returned it to my body, ordered it
to destroy me from the inside out, and
watched me--earnestly--cave in like a corpse.