Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
vision blurs, head spins
the lenses in my eyes **** and whir
distracting me from my thought
and capturing me in it at the same time
this is the first time in so long
that i have torn open this wound
and salt seems to have been packed in it ever since...
since we still spoke

i hurt...i have to steady my self to keep from shaking
i havent had a panic attack in months but
if im not careful
i will...
lose it
i was happy thirty seconds ago
but then i
stepped into the wrong place in my brain
and stains of trauma soaked into my spinal cord
and ran down ...getting caught in my lungs

my lungs are already heaving shallow breaths
from being filled with sixth sick day phlegm
..but this...
this is not because i enhaled lye
or took a quick dust bath in it from carelessness

oh but it feels real similar
i dont want to relive anything
i dont need you
but because i still care about you
and i cannot pretend that i dont
and i cannot hide this from myself any better than by shoving it to the back of my mind from whence it occasionally
hop skips onto my
frontal lobe or
my poor misled and overstimulated
amygdala  
and plays with all
the deep and primal waves of tangible
tryst-torn
in my soul
kind of ...

what is this ?
dealing with an old wound, chemicals
Louise Sep 2015
I haven't wrote for a while.
That does not stop my heart from collapsing at the glimpse of the morning sky, because of sleepless nights I've torchered myself into. Convincing myself to go through alone so I won't pick up my phone and dial your number. I blame myself for the thoughts that keep me awake and I scream at my conscious to hush when any thought seemingly reasonable comes to mind. Deep down I know I'm doing this do myself but nothing stops me because I deserve it. I can't bear the sound of your name or the memory of your touch because the second I look out into the distance I become deep into a state of being numb.
but you see, dear. I'm told it's all in my head and there's no way out. So I look into my mirror and see a stranger staring back at me with eyes bloodshot red matching the blood slowly drip down my wrist. Stomach turning because of the nicotine I just enhaled and I spit into the sink trying to deny what I had done. days before I swore to myself i would never dare pick up a cigarette but I am 15 years old rocking back and forth on the floor begging the lord that I don't believe in to make it all stop. I'm worshipping the clock with faith it will somehow stop and rewind. take me back to the better days that I didn't spend my nights hating myself for every breath I continue to take. I've become all I said I never would.  I've lost myself completely and only find pieces of myself as I'm laying on my best friends floor high as hell and daydreaming about other worlds.
This is why I haven't wrote for a while.
There are no combinations of words to express how deeply I'm depressed. All I ask of you "friends," is to let me rest. Please don't wake me, I'm already dead.
prāz Jan 2021
i want you back
to **** me again

perhaps
this depression is better-
at least i know what it is
at least i know what i feel

like dry acid down my throat
like gold mines down my gut
like a fly dead on my skin

the certainty when i enhaled
a mouthful of anthrax-enigma
and swallowed it after
screaming full

full of content
should i die tonight
at least
i knew the last feeling i had

perhaps
this depression is better
by a hundred-fold of rotten rose petals
by an extra cup of bane
by a last careful blink

perhaps
it is
perhaps
it is

than this feeling
i will never fathom what
how, why- why me
again- how- again, again

perhaps, it is not really what
that matters
perhaps, it is knowing what
that leave dents

certainty, i want you back
to **** me again
id rather die with your bare hands
than these of mine

smother me
to death
to death
tonight
© rekenerer
xrpt: qrtrs nd cntng
vol | none

— The End —