The first blanket of depression pins my arms to my sides, pulls in my chest and fingers my spine.
a hand testing how much force the bone takes to break
I am already broken.
But broken isn’t enough.
I must be crushed.
Trodden into the dirt,
until my hopes and dreams survive only at the bottom of a strangers shoe.
can witness my demise
like a withered rose,
well past its prime but the thorns have no concept of time.
Then wave two appears,
With ringing in my ears, like church bells
It is every sin, every crime,
Every lie beneath my eyes
Every bad decision laid out to be judged.
I am the Judge
and I am not merciful
How can I be merciful when I’ve been so hurtful.
My sentence is nothing.
Because no change is this
The freedom of punishment,
would be equal to bliss
anything to stop the screaming in my head.
That being said,
the third strand brings no relief
Hands shaking, tears rolling
A clench of my teeth
This stage usually brings the blood
A knife glided so quickly against my thigh you’d think it was art
It’s not art
Art couldn’t go so deep
Then I wait.
long enough until my body lets me sleep
A moments peace.
Praying the nightmares will leave me alone
I wish I could talk of bravery,
Of strength overcoming pain
How the battles are hard but I’m winning the war.
This is not a war,
This is slaughter
I am not a soldier
I am the mouse under their feet
It is the poison in the wine
It is the insect in the heat.
The hand wound tightly in my hair,
Whispering deep into my ear
every insult that has ever left my lips
It does not fight fair,
But then again, neither do I.