I am so lonely.

Every day the weight of it crushes me knowing how isolated I am from you from me from the world I exist and breathe I feel the weight of it crushing me.

I am so alone I make plans to be alone in a two story apartment with no people or animals around me just me just me the only breathing thing in the room is me the only thing alive in that apartment is me even so I wonder when you are alone if you ever feel alive living life as it is or if death already has greeted me through the darkness of lights I refuse to turn on because I know no one will be sitting in that space beside me.

I am so lonely no one has ever saw me for me they peer into my soul for a glimpse of everything that is beside me behind me over me what they choose to see is not me why can’t they see me as I am I that hard to decipher am I invisible I am trying to let them see me but they walk right past the empty space I thought I stood within I’m trying to tell them this is me but the words refuse to come together I stand in silence in the middle of the room as usual no one noticing as usual no one knows me no one cares that I exist the people who care are the ones who can’t even reach me.

I float outside my head and circle the space around me, I am lonely as it always is just me my plans surround only me and the things I want to see and feel and live on my own with just only me it echoes a sound of serenity bubbling the space around me no one can see me and no one can touch me the only person who can hurt me is me.

today I lie again on dirt scattered by clammy fingers too broken too tattered to understand the holiness of the land it has touched.

I pray to the ground that they do not take this as offence only as compliment for my fingers and my body and the quivering ache within me only longs to be inside it as deep as I can hide as deep as I can feel the cold finally penetrate my skin as deep as the strands begin to straight themselves out in order to lie flat and feel.

today I lie again on dirt too soft and too matte to take me anywhere I want to go too fragile for my fingers to resume their journey too shallow for me to hide from people too wet for me to feel the cold.

today I rest my head under a stone and think of the day I will lift it with my mind think of the day my fingers surrender to the quiver think of the day I can no longer touch.

I lie down and I close my eyes and for a second I am not me and I am just the dirt I am matte and cool and soft and I am everywhere and nowhere and no one can be rid of me even if they tried because I lie on floors in shoes on beds between your fingers between your lies that no matter how fiercely you try to shake off still crawls back inside your body and makes itself home until you also become one.

it was at precisely the moment the dirt threatened to rise above my neck
when I saw you

for a while it seemed like the coarseness the roughness
the heat and the insects would never leave
that they would eventually rise over my head and suffocate me
that within it the image of his body lying motionless on the grass
lying in a pool of blood
lying in his green suit
lying in its velvet case
would permanently place itself before my eyes
and force me to relive the day over and over and over again

but then I was in line
and I saw you

the first night we talked I actually believed I was free
for the first time in a long time my fingers could breathe
the dirt no longer threatened to suffocate me
on our first date you flew 300 miles to see me
and I thought you’d leave once you really knew of me
but you took my hand, lifted me, and for the first time in years I felt my feet
the first night we slept together all the remaining sand of physical ruin
hidden between my thighs arms chest collarbones
you brushed away without looking twice
then leaned in again to kiss me

I idolized you in a way that consumed everything
like fire that rained down on my future, my past, the people in my life
all I could see was you
the person who saved me the person who made me
the only person who ever really loved me
I loved you so much sometimes it hurt me to breathe

what would I do if you leave me?

see, I overlooked that trauma is its own thing
I forgot that the dirt never stops sifting in
what could a couple of kisses and brushes do
except overshadow the looming brink
the moment you stepped away it crawled back in
into my pockets my clothes every crevice even you couldn’t reach
the images began to dig into my forearms
and I guess this time
you got tired of saving me

the day you left it returned back up to my neck
and the irony in it is that you joined the mix
you left me but now everywhere I felt I felt you
I felt your cigarettes I felt your indifference I felt your feet walk out my door
you told me to forget you how could I forget you
I shared my soul with you
every piece of me that hid from this world indulged themselves in you
why can’t you love me the way I love you?
this time the dirt is excruciating
most days I barely breathed most days I lived through red eyes and shaking fingers
you told me I wouldn’t be able to live without you and you were right I need you
I need you to pull me up again I need to feel my feet
I can’t do it alone

it didn’t take long to consume me
it already owned me
I wasn’t afraid of dying I had just been sitting on a ledge
it’s just embarrassing when your trauma takes your life before you can
the dirt finally rose to the top of my head and the last ray of sunlight closed itself to my gaze
the dead body before me, the unwanted body upon me,
the screams at the police, the bruises on my wrists
your feet out my door, your feet on my grave
all resting under my eyelids, final memories I am forced to relive

you told me I wouldn’t be able to live without you
so why am I still breathing?
did I just save myself?
the dirt still surrounds me I feel it suffocating me, so why am I still breathing?
am I a God?

you saved me when I thought I needed saving
but although you pulled me to my feet
you never pulled me out of the grave
you watched from above as the dirt refilled again and again and again
within it I feel
your fingers ending my call, my thighs barely balancing on those rails
you laughing at the fresh lines on my hands
“see you couldn’t do it” echoing within the sand
you never saved me

I saved me
I am a God
I forced myself to breathe with the very particles suffocating me
I transformed my body to absorb the searing pressure
I soak the bristles the insects the roughness into my skin into myself they’re now at the mercy of me
I am a God

I am God
I carve the words on myself
I carve them on my fingers I carve them on my ribs I carve them in ink
I carve them with knives they belong on my skin
I am a God I am a God I am a God
I don’t need you

an odd sense of liberation accompanies the realization
that apart from the fleeting moments of joy and amplified highs
the process of life continues to be an endless loop of adversity and misfortune.

only in releasing the hopes of a pleasant future
engrained since our youth by the leaders of society that
current suffering is to be endured in anticipation for gratification
that, yet again, will merely be a fleeting moment before we descend back
onto our path of torment.

the tragic acknowledgement that the pleasure is but just temporary
no longer binds the person who anticipates the short lifespan it is born with
as from the beginning when our first parents Adam and Eve failed us God has guaranteed
our happiness would always come with a harrowing cost.

how can a person reach their highest peak of emancipation
if all their time is spent working towards an end goal of bliss
that has proclaimed itself to be beyond the bounds of possibility?
have we ever taken into account that rather than striving to be rid of the adverse
it still remains a methodical presence we should consequently learn to embrace.

“do you hate him?” everyone asks me
now that we are apart, I don’t understand
how they expect me to curl my lips,
close my heart, and utter harsh words
about the only person I have ever truly loved,
the person I made plans to spend my life with
the person I shared every part of me with,
heart, mind, soul, body, all crevices and dents
and shattered remains taped back together
I went through with you,
how can I hate you?

is it possible to stay up all night with you,
to listen to the trauma you have never spoken
out loud before, to run my fingers over every
dip, curve, and scar on your body, to grip
your hand when you are inches from falling apart,
to laugh with you under running water, under
freshly made sheets, sweating from running
the streets, in whispers at restaurants too fancy
for the likes of us kids, is it still possible
for me to develop any bit of hatred towards you?
how can I hate you?

it doesn’t matter that once or twice
you didn’t miss me the moment you or I
passed through customs, it doesn’t matter
that once or twice you lost all romantic feelings
for me, it doesn’t matter that once or twice
you let someone else come before me, it doesn’t
matter that once or twice you did not care that
I was on the edge of that ledge, the edge of the blade
pressing into my scarred skin, it doesn’t matter
that once or twice or maybe thrice
you broke my heart.

it doesn’t matter because none of that can come
between the bond we have formed through dancing
together at midnight, falling asleep on the phone to your
steady breathing, budget flights filled with anticipation,
drunk calls so often I gave up on counting, listening to
the stories no one else got to hear, the warmth that comes
from hearing you say I love you,
how can I hate you
when I loved you that much?

truly, I miss the little space in the back of my mind
that conjures up an alternate reality,
entirely authentic and entirely mine
a land of complete serenity and ease
just me, myself and I.

truly, I miss the numbing sand and the velvety waves,
the rolls of light winds and silky leaves
that blanket me with an independent security
where I rely only on myself,
me myself and I.

I miss escaping from the anguish this sombre world carries,
brimming with suffering, agony, and misery,
my world has its adequate share of darkness
where I’m allowed to conceal and grieve,
but never, ever, cry.

I miss the place where my aspirations are actuality
and the truth simply misleading fantasies,
where the gravest form of torment emerges only
from my own reflections and contemplations
of merging the two incompatible ends together.

truly, I miss the ****** up space at the back of my mind
that desensitizes me from feelings I have yet to feel
by placing a cynical perspective on everything,
an all-inclusive, defensive armour
for me myself and I.

if existence is merely an illusionary veil across our lids
then the inner euphoria that comes with this deception
must merely be a vindication of a life well-lived,
a life well-deceived.

if the misery and despair that drove the slits on my wrist
were simply drifting facades, simply an imitation of tangible grief
then which part of my suffering am I supposed to believe
was a concrete part of the life
I assumed that I lived.

if so,
why do we plainly disregard the ticking clock set upon our souls
the unrelenting countdown to our demise,
and commence the futile cycle of attaining earthly affluence
too worthless to transport into the abyss
that charters all that you believed.

what if the breeze brushes your final flame
and no god exists to magistrate your sins
and solely the predicament of non-existence
occupies the nullity of your fading essence.

then is living truly a desolate state
with a hopeless beginning and an unavailing end,
and just the perpetual succession
of a life fully, entirely, deceived.

Every girl in the kingdom followed her steps,
the way a cub learns to roar when his father bites a neck.
A child from the cold end was asked to reign the throne
by a gold hand. The cost veiled against the velvet curtains,
she was deceived to say yes.

How beautiful, they whisper, sight of rosy cheeks
and soft hair, gems carved into the hem of her dress.
She won’t disclose the violet lesions on her body
after having pledged her loyalty to the blue-eyed darkness
seated on the high throne.

If braids mark beauty, and bruises mark people,
does abuse mark love? The maiden moved the brush gently
through the delicate auburn waves. Better to stay silent,
or the king will have your head. The maiden denied,
grace breeding reason.

The queen wore her crown and directed her knights
to rise. Outside the walls she was glorified whole,
a display of the elite. Inside the castle her command dissolved,
auburn braids ripped off and scattered. After all, the kingdom so desires
a formidable king for power.

bed sheets spread and suitcases zipped shut
holding the best of our things, the ones closest
to the heart.

my laptop prepares for a week between rooms
where I laugh in one and drink in the other
while I write about you.

I greet the long empty roads to the airport
and my navigation congratulates a new
distance that we’ve shared.

with (not so) hidden anticipation and
a fresh wave of timidness as my arms
link behind your neck once again.

so we start all over, building caresses
and conversations, lightly once again
to ignite the covered flame.

my nose forgets the gripping scent you bring
that fills my head with a pain your
searching fingers can’t locate.  

your love for books and the details of your eyes
got lost between the texts and calls
from my drunk dialings to yours.

it’s harder each time to let your hand go
and release your body from mine, not knowing
when will be the next.

I never cry sober but when you boarded
the plane, the crucial drive back home
met my tears along the way.

the borderspace between our two lands
force a distance that disappears the moment
I remember the 8am smile on your face.