I wonder how long it’ll be
before my rhyme and metre
fit together again,
like the beating of my heartbeat.
How long will it be
before the machine that is me
will begin to animate
and breathe,
breathe normally again,
breathe out a sequence
of 1’s and 0’s
because maybe
then I won’t be able to translate
your name,
and I won’t start to hyperventilate.
How long will it be
before all the wrongdoing
catches up to me?
Will you smell the cigarette smoke
on my clothes
or will you catch a whiff
of me regretting
ever letting myself
get addicted
to the hope of dying?
In 5th grade,
when my demons
first poured my own blood
like stagnant spring water
down my skin and
my heartbeat slowed,
I realised that
though my sword had rusted over
and I could no longer fight those demons…
I could still fight myself.
I could still fight for my right
to not be okay,
but as my demons got stronger…
I gave in.
We’re on the same side now,
we focus on a common goal-
destroying
me.