how far you've come.
do you remember every sunset
since the arrival of the sun
or do you crave the blessed dark
now more than ever?
the depth of misery's embrace,
the calm it brings, the warmth it takes,
like being stripped of every part of being you.
would you still welcome the collapse
or wait for sunlight to break through?
this grave's too shallow.
do you still wait to be transformed
or are you finally brave enough
to be in charge of your own form?
before the old survival instinct
can dig its claws into your throat,
remember, scars are there to guide you,
not to condemn, but to remind you
how far you've come.

it's a collection of intrusive thoughts,
you've been taking care of it for so long,
developing an attachment to it,
putting other attachment issues on hold.

it's the most worthless precious thing you have,
the rest of them might not see it, but you do.
the rest of them overlook your worth, too,
so casual you're not even sure it's still there.

such a funny story until it's not,
an impossible theory no one can prove wrong,
it's a collection of intrusive thoughts
that you've been in possession of for so long.

stepping back through the looking glass,
you might like the delusion,
but you don't like the questions it asks.
this version is only appealing at night
with your eyes shut tight,
but it leaves no favourable impression
in the daylight.
you long for a moment that's long gone,
a solution to a problem that's unsolvable,
choking on your own metaphors
for a life you once knew, way before,
a perpetual cliffhanger
that leaves you waiting for more,
but you're already faced with an excess.
you don't want to go back,
you're just mesmerised by the allusion,
reaching out to you
through the looking glass.

you don't mind it if it hurts,
as long the medicine takes over
at the right time.
you don't want to die,
but you often wonder
what it would be like to try.
living in reverse,
with every step forward
you just make it worse,
de-escalating and digressing
at an equal pace.
one more for the list of errors,
pin it on the board,
watch yourself lose another race.
you don't mind the shame,
but you loathe the side of you
that it brings out.
you don't want to drown,
but you often wonder
what it would feel like to be gone.

there are no greetings,
no farewells,
they cross the line
and leave unnoticed.
a solemn choir of silenced voices
repeating an outdated prayer.
there is no god to hear them out,
their hope is but an empty promise.
they find their rest
in nameless graves
and die the way they lived,
unnoticed.

you can't stop hearing it,
that signal, being transmitted
on all channels,
filling those frequencies to the brim.
not a single gap in between
for your own voice;
too quiet for others to notice,
loud enough to make you paranoid.
what if they know it's there,
but would rather pretend
for the sake of not getting involved
with another basket case?
what if there's no one else?
what if you made them up
so that you wouldn't feel as lonely?
the ups and downs of laughter,
interrupted by helpless sobs.
there might be someone out there,
but all you hear is noise;
too distant for others to notice,
too intrusive for you to ignore.
transmitted on all channels,
not a single pause in between
for your own voice
sending out a distress message,
wondering if anyone knows
you're still here.

watching the trains rush by,
reaching for a stranger's hand
to keep your balance,
checking if your mind is still intact.
did something happen last night?
you know it was loud and suffocating,
you were out of breath, self-medicating,
catching the residual smoke
from someone else's exhales.
you don't feel like being called out
for every little invasion you suppressed,
so you take a step forward;
the platform is almost empty at this hour.
grasping at another passenger's clothes,
up the moving steps, counting blocks,
you'll be back to try again
another time.
wondering if someone might catch you,
watching the trains rush by.