and i am scared

do i hold weights in my hand
that bound me to Hell?
or am i sinking my nails into a rope
that saves me from the plummet of death?

will i let go,
and will i find you?
holding my hand,
kissing my neck,
stroking my cheek?

or will i fall into the arms of a drunk stranger who shares your face?
who dances and sings and paints like you?
but doesn't remember me?

i can't tell.
some people can,
but i can't.
and so i'm terrified
to even breathe differently,
because i don't know if
my lungs will stop entirely,
or if
my fingernails will lose their blue tint.

maybe,
i'd rather not know at all.

i got my picture back today

and even though i just sat quietly
in a corner of my room
with the blinds shut
and the door locked,
even though i stared at the ceiling,
breathing in and out, in and out,
and came to terms with it,
even though i convinced myself i'd be okay,

somehow my skin looks ready to be checked out,
my eyes are two overfilling ponds,
somehow my voice chokes and croaks,
somehow my fingers have stained the carpet

and there's this girl in my head
and she's screaming
and i would give anything to make her stop
stop digging at her cells
stop burrowing into her DNA
stop exhuming her genes

i will always stay this way,
i wish i could tell her.
i will always stay this way,
and it's pointless to think otherwise.

it disgusts me how often i think of you
i would jump off bridges
off trains
off skyscrapers
to see you in the stinging water
in the cold whip of the wind
in the clouds in the sky
your name would be the last sound that leaves my lips
because i never got to say it again
because i said it enough times and life decided that was enough
it wasn't.
no, i don't think of you often at all,
because often implies there is an end and a beginning,
but there is no pause when it comes to you
for
you are the beginning,
and you were the end.