CW: Suicide


i’m not sure what it is again, but if it’s what they call it,
a body,
then mine is a circuit
a complex mesh of wires-carrying-current running a sketch
through every cell and bone
draining desires from my soul

you don’t know what you’re saying.
don’t ever ask me to give up my demons.

i need them. they put me to sleep, drowning the world’s
noise. they sing of a future beyond the sky
not the one built on maps
designs made to constrict us,
the flames in our eyes
to put us in an eclipse of dos and don’ts

so, you want to know what real sorrow feels like

grab a knife and cut yourself,
try to chisel out those areas where your
body never quite fits into a home –
a place where birdsongs are tucked behind the night’s curtain.
& see pieces molding up as one, laughing in your face
this is not an experiment; it’s as fickle as the human conscience
that worships grace in a bid to wash off the stains
each night I sleep and wake up as the moon
with bloodshot eyes & emotions locked in a cloud of cold light.
but tonight, I will stop my heart from dancing in its electric cage
my dreams will no longer become bloodstains pulsating in an azure of stolen things
like your milkshake flirting with the tongue of a stranger

i’ll travel through that space where time dies and distance becomes past tense
when I finally awake my body will cease to be a city of wreckage and dread
but a home, whence a garden of new song spins from the mouth of birds
learning to live again.




Photo by cottonbro from Pexels