Spend time with living things that are not human.

I see blood in their hands
Foolish thinking their sanitizers can mask the sin
Every moment of this life is written in our flesh
Written in ink
Written in truth
And ones flesh can be read
Read like the mountains and trees
I see blood in their hands

Limitations of a human are still neglected,
Claiming that everything is possible.
Someone said,
Impossible is I'm possible.
If so, why not jump off a thousand metre cliff.

The saying is a virus,
Inciting young minds to dream the unachievable.
After all as goes by the saying,
Hard work is rewarding,
But then failures strike,
Dismay creeps in.
It is easy to blame not accepting that they are to be blamed.

Keep trying is another lie,
Since there is no time.
Life is short, dreams are more.
Life won't always give the best.

But there are men who have achieved much,
Not driven by ideal pursuits.
Respecting self is rare trait.

constantly confessing sins
      never knowing forgiveness
like a man with a book
      but unable to read
or a fool hoarding gold
      and dying from hunger

enslaved to the pride of life
       the measure of men
of winning and success
      compelled to boast
the works of one's arms
      flaunting wit, or foolishness

but oblivious to the exposure
      of their nakedness and vulgarity
of pain and confusion
      of faith in their strength and wit
of the Mark of Man
      on their arms and foreheads

believing by strength of will
      what is given and not by works
the soul betraying the flesh
      in double mindedness and hypocrisy
seduced by free will
      but enslaved to another's will

but the further apart,
      the more fervent
to execute the command
      to impose commands
on their neighbours
       when the only command is love

by the measure they measure
      they are measured
for they have become
      the enemy they condemned
and judgement is just
      for evil judges evil

I can’t put into words,
the simply incomparable beliefs I heard
every ******* day until I didn’t have to
hear them anymore, and I learned to be paralyzed
from the mind to the fingers to the feet I can’t stand.

I didn’t understand how I grieved for myself
until I shoved everything down before I left for
the hospital one Friday night. I curled up in the blue nightgown,
staring at the cream walls, unable to feel anything at all.

Apathy is equal to unbearable emotion, two sides of a coin flipping
through the lightning cracked air. Waking up, finding the energy to
walk to the nine am class I skipped once a week, the skies did not breath.
Neither did I.

Navy sweat stained mats cover the wrestling room floor. The humid and
old swells without circulation. In the last thirty minutes of the MMA
I love and fear, everything slams into me. The fall I should not have had,
A heel stuck out to kick and I rise into suffocation.

I do not think I failed. I know I failed. Scrambling to the wall, because my legs
could no longer hold me, a piece of my body no longer mine to control. Tears
surge as a tsunami to the coast of Indonesia, cross legged on the floor, I try to joke, to hide.

I see the text my best friend sent me.
A theater kid drove off a bridge.
I swallow.
Grasping for breath. For control.

The coin lands on its edge, wobbling. I totter
off pillars thinned by rotten rain, into ruined fires.

I can no longer grieve. I don’t remember what I once was.
There is much I learned about myself in my psychology class.
Did you know I have an avoidant attachment style? It leaves
me unable to miss people, to trust any answer. What if they’re lying?
What if I’m lying?

See, I sour myself. Broken isn’t the word to encompass all that is,
shattered pieces across the carpet, slivers buried in the door, here
I am, scrapped off the pavement, dandelions bruising the cracks between squares.

I write to you, not for myself, not for you either. Dear depression,
Dear anxiety, I hope you stay. I don’t know who I’d be without you. Exhaustion without sleep,
beating to the minutes and the hours, laying in fear of falling asleep and never falling asleep. Recovery is terrifying. And so are you.
Love, me.