Cage me in Strech my fingers And pull them off. Heal my wounds And repeat. Repeat. Count the times. Make me count. Repeat. Until. Until. I go berserk. This is the end. Scream. Scream in pain. Despair. Delight. Disorder. I am not ordered around. Threaten me. Beat me. Bleed me. Ask for my numbers. You made me count. I lost track. Kill me. Kill me already. No. Don't. Don't. Repeat. Please. No. Stop. I surpassed the time. Come. Sit in this same chair. And let me try this too. Count! Count! I said count.
My arms grow back I feel your flesh. You bleed. I kill you. I hate this. Is this joy? Delight. You did this. I have lost control. Help. Somebody help. Help! Wanna protect, The powerless? Or because A duty? I don't know. Power. Power consumes Someday. Go. Leave already. The wall. Has fallen.
I am scared. I'm scared cause everyone around me seems to be becoming okay with goodbyes, slowly and gradually. They tell me ends are beautiful. Sad, yes. But beautiful. They've romanticized the endings that were never meant to be. Heck! Are endings ever mean to be? I see them glamourising the goodbyes through poetries and sonnets and stories and songs. I see them ignoring the voids the goodbyes left in them as if they weren't knots burdening their hearts. I see them encapsulating the entire chaos that this feeling is within a line as simple as "somethings aren't meant to be".
I am scared. I'm scared cause I feel I'm turning into them. I've started hiding myself behind phrases like, "unended beginnings are meloncholically beautiful." I'm scared that one day, years down the line, while sitting at a beautiful cafe, there'll be a gentle tap over my shoulder and I'll turn around to a face I had bidden a reluctant goodbye to, and I'll be able to ignore the tightness in my chest and smile at them. I'm scared that I'll heave a sigh at our memories and tell myself, "it's okay, somethings aren't meant to be". And I'm scared that I'll mean it.