what tomorrow brings.

xiii. another sad poem about wanting to die.

xiii. ANOTHER SAD POEM ABOUT WANTING TO DIE.

when you are as sad as i have been, you become numb. you don't care. you feel as if you are already a ghost, a shadow no one cares for. an apparition that dances in between hazy lines. you're scared. you don't know what your mind will do. the ice always runs thin, toes curling over cliffs that drop to such a length, you wonder if by the time you hit the bottom, you have learned how to fly. it's feeling every dream of the future being suffocated under the dirt you continue to throw on top of the bolted shut coffin. you no longer welcome yourself home. you no longer know what home is. comfort, love, it feels as if you had never felt it to begin with. it's looking in the mirror and not knowing who is staring back. you watch calories, you starve yourself, looking for satisfaction from one's self. you cry yourself to sleep in pain, you wake up in pain. you cave in, eat away, disgusted. you collapse, cry over the raging headache you have brought to yourself, the one that pulses in between temples. wanting to scrape at the back of your throat until everything you ate comes rushing back. grazing your stomach as it expands while breathing, holding your breath until you can't anymore. it's struggling to shower, it's scrubbing at your skin under burning water, hoping maybe by the time you get out, you will have scraped away enough to feel brand new again. to feel worthy, to feel alive, to feel something. it's finding every excuse to push away anyone who shows that they care, feeling annoyed with yourself that you can't figure out why anyone would want anything to do with you anyways. it's being top of the class, it's smiling when the pain is unbearable, it's pretending that everything is fine because under makeup, no one can see what the world has done to you.

when you are as sad as i am, you don't tell anyone what's going on. you don't speak of what happens under the roof you grew up in, you don't talk about what your father said that one time, what he did to you the second time. you brag about what's good even if there is nothing good actually happen, you lie, you become a storyteller.

you do everything in your power to convince people that you are fine,
hoping in the end that maybe you'll convince yourself too.