i set my ringtone to a heartbeat
because i don't feel mine
enough to comfort me anymore,
but i get enough texts
to make it feel real.
i feel your words
trying to breathe me back to life,
but they aren't powerful enough
to do any good.
tell me to my face,
make the words more than words,
let me hear your voice crack
as you speak the truth that hurts you to be real,
write them out with your mother's lipstick
on your bathroom mirror at 3am again
just to bring them to life,
to make sure you're alive
and i'm alive
and i'm not living in a completely made-up universe.
your words are drumming against my ribs,
which are cracking and caving under the pressure and strain,
and the dread can't seem to find any of the exits.
my anxiety is here, trying to comfort me,
trying to lull me into her arms,
and she's holding my hand,
but it feels like it's 100 degrees when she's around
even though it's snowing outside
and so cold in my room that i can see my breath,
the only proof i'm a living human and not fiction or made up.
and she won't let go
because she's scared if she leaves me alone, i'll be alone forever.
i think my anxiety fears being alone more than i do.
my bones tremble when i'm alone
and they never seem to fully stop.
goosebumps cover me like blankets,
but nothing warms me anymore.
