Kneel beyond my throne, unaware it was born of lies.
Eyes linger on my every move, whispers shouting.
Am I meant to replicate perfection, or just die trying?
Cold smiles approach, thinking they have uncovered my tell-tale heart.

I am a seasoned ghost.

Being raised to suffer, I have learned to hide.
To mold myself to fit the standards of society.
To grit my teeth and stand still as my form shifts once again.
Knowing the brief seconds of waking are a soft euphoria I will soon miss.

I wake to a dawn meant only for the dying.

I wake to reset my own jaw,
bending my bones backwards
with the occasional crack,
a ritual ensuring I resemble something human.

People believe I am powerful, successful, happy,
(but i am as fragile as frost on a window touched by morning).
My costume is convincing, but I am chronically ill.
Invisibly so, and so the pretending continues.

A mangled bird slumps in her gilded cage
Surrounded by opulence and feasts she cannot savor
Golden bars festooned with rolling joints and popping bones
A doll sewn by a child's hand
Pull her thread as she buckles like a blueberry
Blood
A viscous syrup in her legs
Sticky confluence
Heartbeat like a hummingbird
The nectar would likely cause an eruption of glowing pink hives
A rosy sanguine sea
Vision blurring
Rumination like hands on a clock
Round and round
Living days like
Copy, paste
Groundhog's Day
Oh, look, it's night again
Ice packs and Epsom baths
Erratic dreams
The clock resets
Oh, joy, it's day again

I feel like I live in an infinite void of nothingness. Between the vast worlds that I remain The Observer to. I’ve been in so many things, but never fully committed, be it by my own volition or external circumstances. Perhaps no one has and the continuity and consistency I seek is all an illusion generated by my limited presence in the spaces I transiently call home in a desperate attempt to belong to things that I feel deep down I simply can’t. Do I know it to be certain, or is it merely faulty—unhealthy—subconscious programming? I wish I knew.
I have so much potential—I sincerely know it; I see it every day. Yet, despite this, I remain a car in fifth gear, wheels spinning in winter’s freezing, putrid slush, and remain stationary as I drain all my energy, rocking back and forth across the slippery driveway.
Like my body and brain—like me—my devices’ batteries seem to drain too quickly; where’d all that time and energy go? Yet, Time seems to firmly drag me along through an eternity, moment to moment, when pain strikes me with its sour, sharp, and nearly all-penetrating hand.
The evening sunlight sure does look pretty out the window and coming in onto the walls, though. That’s something.
A group walks by. By no means a popular group–not that popularity matters much–but they, despite the game of Society stacking most odds against them, have found their people: each other. These geeks that pass by the window are happy despite this, and though I may have traits that set me apart from them, I remain set apart from near everyone else.
I fear, from the deeply-rooted subconscious program from a childhood of my depth and passions never being understood, much cared for, or even acknowledged, that those who are near to me cannot fully see it. I know they love me; no question there despite the doubts creeping in. The programming renders both nearly impossible to feel. Spectacular.

I get lost in my work.
Hungry again, I note.
The cycle restarts.
Better this time, I hope.

I find some good food,
Making sure to choose carefully,
And snag my water,
An essential, soon, you’ll see.

I avert my gaze—
I fear they’re all eyeing me—
And sit myself down
For a ritual eternity.

Many meals are Hell;
My body a warzone.
What you’ve learned to nurture so
Still hates you to the bone.

I accept this task I must master;
‘Twas not a choice I made.
It’ll stick with me for life;
‘Cause it’s one my genes gave.

The first taste is bliss,
But most bites bring pain quickly.
Size portions correctly;
So tired of feeling sickly.

Pain sears my throat,
So, I chew with vigor.
The swelling is fast;
I pray my water’s quicker.

The drink spells relief,
But every bite’s anxious,
Every swallow torment;
Each pause between captious.

Another meal unfinished; bitter defeat,
The peace remains unreachable.
I craved it so badly, and I was so close,
Now it looks repulsive; uneatable.

I check the scale once more,
So, skinny I remain;
Been mocked and critiqued
For weight, unable to gain.

I am Sisyphus ‘til sated,
The table is my hill,
Sustenance my stone,
And my mind is my will.

I get lost in my work.
Hungry again, I note.
The cycle restarts.
Better this time, I hope.

They tell me that everything has its time—
Each heartbreak, each joy, every mountain to climb.
But here I sit, drowning in despair,
Wondering why you’re not standing there.

Is it because my body’s wearing thin,
A battle outside reflecting within?
The aches and the weight that drag me down,
A silent war where I feel I might drown.
My balance is gone; the world spins fast,
Each moment a fight just to make it last.
I clutch at walls to steady my pace,
Yet even standing feels like a race.
I’m trapped in a body that won’t obey,
A fragile shell that fades away.

The mirror feels cruel, revealing my fight—
A body in shadow, drained of its light.
I don’t know this face, these heavy eyes,
The weight of sorrow, the endless cries.
It doesn’t see the war inside my mind,
Only the shell that’s been left behind.
I search for the person I used to see,
But all that’s left feels foreign to me.

Maybe the reason we’re not together now
Is hidden in the weight I carry somehow.
My body is failing; my mind feels weak.
The healing I need will take months, not just weeks.
I’m fighting a battle I don’t fully understand,
Too broken to hold another’s hand.

And perhaps you’re healing in your own way,
Facing the wounds you’ve buried each day.
There are pieces of you that still need repair—
A journey to take while I’m not there.
Maybe the universe knows what we don’t,
That we need this time apart to grow.

I wish you were here to steady my fall,
To be my comfort, my strength through it all.
To hold me close, to ease this pain,
To bring some light to the endless rain.
But my sickness is not a burden you should bear,
Not for someone already lost in despair.
You’re fighting your demons, I know that’s true—
It wouldn’t be fair to place this on you.
So maybe it’s better that you’re not near,
For you too have wounds that need to clear.
Perhaps this distance, though hard to endure,
Is part of the reason we’re meant to mature.

And as the year slips closer to its end,
I pray for more time, though I cannot pretend.
With my health declining, I can’t promise tomorrow—
Each day is a balance of hope and sorrow.
Still, everything happens for reasons unseen.
What will be, will be, whatever it means.

Yet, there’s a whisper, soft yet unkind—
A shadow that lingers deep in my mind.
What if the stars won’t guide you back?
What if this love is the one thing I lack?
What if the reasons I cling to are lies,
And love won’t return, no matter my tries?
Am I holding to hope just to numb the fear,
Afraid to accept that you’ll never be near?

Maybe we’re not soulmates; maybe it’s true.
Maybe the stars weren’t meant for me and you.
But I truly believe everything happens for reasons unseen,
Guiding us gently, wherever they mean.

So, if you’re my person, the stars will align.
Through distance and time, your heart will find mine.
If we are meant to be, that truth will arrive.
But first, I must focus on staying alive—
Healing my body, reclaiming my mind,
Seeking the strength I thought I’d never find.
For only when I’m whole can love take its place,
And time will reveal if you share that space.

For now, I wait, with questions unspoken,
Believing some truths are best left broken.
And maybe, just maybe, the path we can’t see
Is still guiding us gently to where we should be.

The nurse got me in one stick
A bed is ready for me upstairs,
just as my angry ER neighbor reaches higher octave
The blankets are heated
Most of the staff is kind
Trying their best
I’m losing blood
Not enough for transfusion
More often I find myself floating above the stiff hospital bed on a cloud of Dilaudid
I shuffle to the window in the morning
Stare longingly into the cemetery below
A well kept patch of grass
A smattering of carved stone
No needles
No wires
No tubes
No beeps
No yelling
Peace