Your clouds need not seek
Just as shadows need not flee
From the falling rain
All that a running soul needs
Is to in acceptance be

I cannot sleep, my dear
You see, yesterday the sound
of waves crashing inside my
mind kept me up all night

I’ve been at war with my past,
and I failed to make peace with it

Now my bed is on fire and nothing
remains of my heart but the ashes;
I beg of you don’t ask me to stay
alive for another sleepless night

Lover, I’m weary
and I long to sleep

Stop saying
     "Tomorrow"

No one knows
the last tomorrow,

Just do it!

-Pastorlee

Running was never new to me.
Different places,
Different people,
Unfamiliar smells and unfamiliar buildings.
When things became too familiar,
Recognizing street signs,
Familiar names,
Memories and places etched into the back of my mind,
I move again.
Pain is an ever accompanying acquaintance,
A travel partner that never fails to remind me that I am,
In fact,
Always running from something.

My eyes has been
wide open all night
like a corpse’s eyes

Would you come and
gently close them for
me so I can finally sleep?

All my years, I’ve been preparing to die,
and now they’re forcing me to stay alive
Claiming they can heal my wounded soul
by shocking my brain causing more trauma

How do you go back
from being buried?
How do you find peace
when you know what’s awaiting you?
How do you love
when your heart has stopped?
How do you remember
when you’ve lost your mind?
How do you cry
when you don’t have tears?
How do you overcome your past
if it’s still your present?
What do people do with their lives
if their whole being didn’t yearn for its doom?

How do I start?
Where do I begin?

This is the first day of my life
where I’m not suicidal, and
I don’t know what there is to do
when death was my only salvation

I don’t know this new version of me;
the one who doesn’t find it impossible
to stay for another day,
another endless night

I’m scared of shifting back;
I’m scared of being buried
by my own deadly psych,
I’m scared of dying again

Things are more lighter now
The elephant in the room is no
longer perched upon my chest,
and my wrists are no longer
bleeding, only the scars remain

What if I get hungry again, and can’t
find anything to feed on but my own blood?
What if I woke up in a casket again?

I can’t help but wonder
for how long is this going to last?
How long am I going to last?
I hope this lasts,
I hope I last

I can hope like others do!
I’m hoping again
which is a sign of life!

Am I deluding myself?
Am I better or worse?

I need someone to squeeze my hand
just so I know that this is real
It’s dangerous to get stuck in
a state where nothing feels real
No matter how deep
you went to draw blood,
you still don’t feel like you’re here

In my head I’ve already
killed myself, long ago,
and now my corpse is
somehow trying to breathe, again?

This goes against logic
This goes against my own head,
my head is going against
its own suicidal thoughts

Am I going to look back at this,
and not believe that one day
One day I felt alive enough to breathe,
and not wish I wasn't

For how much longer
do I have to wash my hands?  
                      sleep in the burning house?              
                      carry this heavy heart?
                      weep?
                      bleed?
                      ask for bandages?
                      hide my scars?
                      see my therapist?
                      lose touch?
                      force a smile?
                      see my reflection?
                      try to fix the brokenness?
                      adjust to new meds?
                      wish I was dead?
                      wash my hair?
                      trim my nails?
                      write these lines?
                      avoid my birthday?
                      fight the urges?
                      endure myself?
                      cling to this life?