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TheScarfIsPurple Jul 2018
I know I chose this
This cage
This maze

This prizon
This haze

                                    In this exile
                                I am safe

                    feeling fragile
                             but still my mind's
                
                                               ­     slave
I did this to myself.
Ayesha Jul 2020
I don't remember coming in
my cotton armor melts in the corner
I sit, my arms devouring my bent legs.
my knees embracing my cheeks
I stare, drop after drop running over the tiles
I think of bullets, invincibly unstoppable.
I feel, splash after splash stab my back
I think of bombs, hopelessly inescapable.
But it doesn't matter what I think.

My lashes meet the floor of my eyes,
weighted down by the battle in my skull.
Wish I could say I see dark but I only see a void;
colourless, lifeless clouds over a barren soil-
a few glimpses of my energetic blood vessels.
My shaking fingers curl under my palms,
skin imblankets my jagged nails
I imagine my back splitting asunder,
the blushing water vanishing down the drain
I imagine the cage of my ribs tearing up
with the strain of my sqeezing lungs-
heart leaping out, swriling and whirling with the streams
spiriling down a tight eternal abyss-

I don't remember giving in.
my light dreams wash away with the dandelions
I sit, my naked shivering, trembling body
under a thousand layers of clothes
I stare, day after day running away
I think of incinerating masses of uncountable bodies
I feel, thought after thought piling up
I think of graves feeding in on bygone beings.
But it doesn't matter what I think.

My skin gets clumsy and tired,
The bullets get cold and slow, giving in
Wish I could say I get up, dress up & walk out
this prizon shell that I now call my home-
holding me in, it reads my brain, suffocates my lungs
like a vulture it guards the small of my self.
I sit, I stare at my closed lids, I hear the water
the breathing of something alive and still.
I bolt all my muscles shut, tie up my nerves
-Not a hair dares stir, not a vein speaks
not a tear makes out alive, not a whimper lives.

I don't remember going out,
a part of me turns off the shower,
soaks up the towel, puts on a skin
and walks out the door, breathing.

I part of me never does.

— The End —