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repeating an outdated prayer.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.

i know being lost.
been walking around
these woods for a while now,
same trees and same moss.
remind me again
what side does it grow on,
the south or the north?
it's not like the difference
makes any difference,
but it might make me feel
a little bit better.
same traps
and same hunting spots.
i can't really tell
a noose from a ladder,
that's probably
why i'm still here.
been trying to see
the sun for a while now,
but there's nothing but leaves.
eventually everyone leaves.
i know being lost.
taught myself
the art of surviving
all on my own,
but i'm getting tired.
my water is gone,
my food is expired.
still hoping to find a way out
out of spite,
wondering what it would feel like
to be underground.
out of sight,
out of mind.
been walking around
these woods for a while now.

there's an anchor weighing me down.
it won't let me change the course,
but it also won't let me drown.
it makes sure that the water stagnates
as rust compromises the fuel tanks.
losing buoyancy at a rising rate,
somehow staying afloat just to spite me.
i should find the leak and ignite it,
i should let someone else decide now,
but i've been patching holes in the hull.
some would call it a waste of time,
i guess i'm not ready to drown yet.

there's no crime that can't be presented
as some kind of heroic action.
if you've something to say against it,
then you're plotting an insurrection.
then no matter how loud you're screaming
at those giving their lives to get drafted,
you're a traitor that stands on the front lines
while the patriots watch from a distance.
every word can be framed as a slogan,
every question's a sign of resistance.
as the crowd splits in different directions,
there's no evil that can't be presented
as some kind of heroic action.