"911, what is your emergency?"
"hard to describe"
"how can we help you"
"I think my heart broke"
"Sorry, we can't help you"

what is fear?

is it the smell of smoke and ashes
with a raging fire over the hills?
it is a common misconception that
the flames take the lives of the majority
but actually, it’s the smoke that kills
yet we never make that a priority
due to the uniformity of
smoke detectors placed in our homes
to ease the apprehension

is it the sight of a car accident
over on the side of the interstate?
we know staring is a sin but
it’s as if we cannot look away
seems like the car was the
source of the flames
it’s evident that the girl will be
hospitalized until half past eight
so we stay and wait for some sort of update
but the ambulance is running late and
she can’t see straight; she’s in the hands of fate
but we take a deep breath when
ruby red and azure blue headlights
zoom past our peripheral vision
we take a deep breath
to ease the fear

is it the taste of your own blood
on your pale lips as you
lay paralyzed?
the medic was specialized in
handling events like this
but you envision the blurred profiles of
the loved ones you struggle to reminisce
and the amount of blood lost
was making you weak
not to mention the cut on your cheek that
made your skin even rosier than before.
and you, you are iron-woman
with only a little less iron in your veins
you are superwoman
breaking out of the chains that
hold you down
the hallucinations are almost over now
so the paramedic straps an oxygen mask
across your face
to ease your fear

is it the feeling of needles
poking and prodding,
heads shaking and nodding
as everyone talks about you but you?
every breath is a pain and
you could no longer feign a
contented expression
nothing but disdain remained
there was no such thing as comfort anymore
yet the anguish was something you
couldn’t even begin to ignore
so the doctors gave you a sedative
to ease your fear

is it the sound of your mother’s cries
that breaks the silence in the room
when your father begins to
wipe his own eyes?
“i know you love her,
but she won’t recover
unfortunately she’ll have to suffer”
is what the doctor muttered
underneath his breath
lord how he hated explaining death
so they all gifted you flowers
cards and compliments were showered
onto the hospital bed
but despite every effort
it was becoming more difficult to fetter
the fear that was now simply just
an aura
and everyone was looking for a
way to ease their worries
these flurries of fear could not be contained any longer

nevertheless; without fear,
there would be no such thing as bravery.

money machine
was astride
but direly
enured any
time but
for treasury
would still
dilate his
mind if
togetherness was
our kind
when ritual
finally was
to field
but wept
and dined
in spring

Sometimes I wonder if the razor blades I used to drag onto my skin leaves bits and pieces of itself inside my body.
It would explain why I'm always being pulled back into my room, as if it were a magnet.
It irks me that I always find myself standing in front of my bed and hiding under the covers until a new day begins.
I pull myself out, but I end up in this dull lighted room every single time.
I wish I could stop but my body self consciously just wants to be in here.
Is it the accustomed loneliness? The overwhelming depression? The looming anxiety? It's too much, my brain can't comprehend.
I just think about this while I lay in this ******* tear soaked bed.
I let my mind race while my arm trickles with the damages I've done.
They say blood is thicker than water, but when it's self inflicted drops of blood and bittersweet saltwater tears, they're both just as heavy.
I find myself punching and banging my head against the wall next to my bedroom door.
I can just... turn the **** and ******* leave, but I always stop in front of it as if it were a monster I couldn't defeat.
Am I entrapping myself just to make myself suffer? Do I enjoy this torture? Do I just love watching my knuckles turn green and blue?
I feel like I'm obligated to stay in this stupid room.
Maybe it's the self hatred telling me I deserve to be confined.
Maybe then no one will see my stupid face.
Maybe then no one can hurt me again.
No one else can hurt me but myself.
I know the capabilities to which my own destruction towards myself extends.
Some times I feel like I'm intentionally keeping myself in imprisonment.
I can't love myself because people tell me I must stay away from what I fear.
Fear is supposed to drive me away, not let it become one within me.
And I feel like shooting out my brain will make this white noise ******* stop.
I feel like slitting my veins on my wrists will make everything go away.
It can be so easy to take all this weight off my worn out brain.
All the pain, all the ache, all the hurt, all the suffering, all the torture, all the bruises, all the cuts, all the voices, all the reminders, all the insecurities, it would all just go away.
With just one single movement.
I can interpret this in however I feel would be for the best.
I can either open my bedroom door and run without looking over my shoulder, or I can open up my skin and watch it turn into a red and white color.
I just... need to get up. Move. Go somewhere. Anywhere. Leave. Now.

.... But I can't.