I am not this person. It's scary how much shift in your personality your demons can cause. It's difficult to breathe now. I don't want to be like this and it has been easy for me before to get rid of them but this time they have come stronger. I like the way I'm so depressed but I don't want to be depressed. I guess I will tear myself ricocheting between sanity and madness.
You have always been everywhere. In the candy store down the street and by the lake at the edge of our town; in the daffodil field where we first kissed and by the trail where I learnt to ride a bike. When thunder rumbled and rain fell in torrential curtains, I could see you looking out of a window. And that was the only time I saw a ghost of a smile linger on your face. What is it that makes you cry? Why do you scream so loud in lifeless dumpyards? Do you have a memory that tears you apart every night? I wish I knew what to say when I saw you with bruised knuckles. There were tears in your eyes. Anger was rolling off you in waves so fierce I didn't know if I could even touch you. You have been so into your own world that you never noticed people pack their bags and leave without a goodbye. Even on the darkest of nights you never fail to light a candle next to your door. I wish I knew why. Why do you burn letters on full moon nights? Did your bones freeze with pain when you jumped into the river last December? When you stand at the curb and look at the sky, why do your fists clench? I've seen you sit next to the entrance of our town's cemetery every friday without fail. I wish I could take your hand and walk you to the one grave that holds your love. In the summer heat when I ran through burnt fields, you have stayed behind and watered the bushes lining our street. You've let go of so much I'm surprised you're still concrete. You leave pieces of your soul wrapped up in blackened newspapers near park benches. You don't look back once you turn around. I wish I knew why the world shook you so hard you never stopped shivering. When it gets so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat, do you try to get yourself out of the pit that has swallowed you? I wish you would take my hand. I'm waiting right at the edge of it.
You have white hair brittle as the kind of white cotton candy you fought with your sister for, And you know you're moments away from autopsy; hoping inside you they'll find the key that you swallowed, in an attempt to unlock the magic that you unlearned as the years passed and was locked deep within the secrets of your eyes. The bullet hits and the pillow explodes into feathers like a dandelion, And your parting words takes you in like a mother, back to fifty.
When your husband died and you swallowed gulps of wine like the last drop of serenity is corked inside the vial, which was bittersweet and tasted like the fights you had with him. You swim through his body, all the parts you loved, especially his arms into the deep treacherous end of forty.
The settled dust in your memories gives it's way to the undefined affection that you could never express but felt. Only felt, like the face of your dead daughter silent and cold all of a sudden who drove home drunk, and now you fit yourself through the opening of the used beer bottle that still sits in the windowsill of her empty room and you slide through it into your thirties.
A string of heart breaks and failed struggles, where one of them left bruises in the form of fists. But the one that hurt the most was made out of words, "Girls like you can never be someone's Completely". Climb through those words and back into twenty.
When you truly believed the worst thing you could ever do was smoking weed and hammering make up, all over your face never realizing you'd spend the rest of your life pouring kerosene into every single poem in an attempt to keep that fire inside you burning and that would be the worst crime of all.
And now you open up that realization bury it all the way into your mother's womb where, for the first time you realised darkness comforts more than light does and swimming inside her tiny universe, you scratched into the walls of her stomach scribbling your first ever poem in Morse code: "To experience the pain of death, Die when you're still alive."