Again and again, I wake from slumber
With the clock's continuous ticking beats,
I count the seconds until surrender

In a recurring struggle against Death
Who comes to me in my solemn sleep
And haunts me until my last breath

His scythe then reaps me of my physicality
The remnants splattering onto the sheets
Staining what was pure with perceived finality

...Until the time resets and I wake again
Constantly, endlessly, reliving to weep
A thousand days of an inevitable event

It so becomes that I'm intimate with Him
A neverending dance of rise and defeat
He lies with me in somber hymn

Eventually bound by a single fate
Becoming one till we're eternally asleep
Death warms my bed as a final mate

nothing changes even if I sleep
three, four hours later than intended
when I wake up, the same ceiling—
the same feeling arises in my head
like the afternoon sun that's become
a foreign presence to my world

I lay in bed for several more minutes
and I forget everything that makes
me feel so worthless and strange

but even if I rise again and see my
reflection, I avert my gaze in shame
of both my appearance and form

disheveled and unbecoming I am
it makes me sick to my stomach to
see the result of my own negligence

it doesn't matter if I rinse my face of
dirt from yesterday or the day before
the same mistakes will stain me
the same empty shell will greet me
the same issues of several years ago
now a disintegration of the present

I should have been born
with a better mind,
a better spirit—
a human being
a better way of living
instead of breaking away in fear
from the owners of each grimace

maybe if I had the humor to
laugh at my own instability
but I'm a child without regulation
a child without connection
even if I pull my hair,
claw at my skin,
spill everything
to lay my soul bare
I'm far too difficult to know
and only a growing burden

with time, everything eats away
the termites burrowing, hollowing
nothing from before is left of me
just an endless feeling of regret and
desire for a final march towards...

—Or maybe I shouldn't
have been born at all.

I long for the midday breeze,
Brushing against my skin
Gently caressing,
Softly whispering,
Until the tremors fall asleep
And leave my heart light
As if no longer
can any shadows creep
To obfuscate my mind

One day I'll let my worries
Rest beneath my feet
Till it sprouts newborn hopes
And wishes to be fulfilled

Silently, I submerge my head
Under unknown waters
Closing my eyes,
Holding my breath,
I almost falter
Embrace, I must, what lies ahead

Fill my lungs with the liquid's salinity
I suffocate in the path to sanctity
The agony is merely a symptom of
My resurrection sung by a mourning dove

The ensuing metamorphosis becomes
An excruciating asphyxiation that overcomes
Preceding concepts one yearns to eschew
And yet chains of doubt still anchor true:

"The cold abyss invades every pore,
Therefore cleansing my spirit's very core
Or would that wipe my true essence
For the filth has taken root in my existence?"

Another hazy, feathery feeling
Engulfs my aching mind
I try to steady my breathing
The world begins to unwind


                                                          "gasp for air,
                                                                  close your eyes"

A dreaded culmination
My gaze flickering about
A building, uneasy sensation
Focus—breathe in and out


                                                         "grab hold,
                                     there's nothing"


The erratically beating heart
Prickles the tips of my fingers
Trembling hands, thoughts part
From me and all that lingers


              "keep trying,
                                       reach out"


To sabotage what grounds me
My nails dig into tender skin
To anchor against the violent sea
Although still imploding within


                                          "end the storm,
                                   into temporary solace"

a thousand boring gazes akin
to bugs crawling under the skin
they seek out all voids within
each crevice a home to live in

the persistent turbulence proceeds
each apprehension plants its seeds
lay the eggs, the progeny succeeds
as maggots, upon weakness feeds

and with their growing infestation
brings a constant buzzing sensation
decaying flesh―a crumpled carnation
from inevitable discorporate predation

The past slips through
the gaps between my fingers,
and even the perpetual flow of tears
can't extinguish its burning sensation.
All that's left are the charred pieces
of memories long forgotten.
No—memories long sealed
within the unreachable crevices
of my fractured heart.
I see the blurred faces of the past,
and outstretched hands of the future,
but the one standing within my path
is none other than a figure of the present—
the one within the mirror.